


The Case

by keepcalmanddonotblink, MashiarasDream



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Supernatural
Genre: Close to Canon, Fake/Pretend Relationship, M/M, PTSD, apart from the case of the idiots in love, apple pie life?, feels and crack, no there will not be a foursome stop asking, not actually a case fic, pretend husbands, seriously don't expect an actual case
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-27
Updated: 2016-04-28
Packaged: 2018-05-16 17:55:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 47,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5835262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keepcalmanddonotblink/pseuds/keepcalmanddonotblink, https://archiveofourown.org/users/MashiarasDream/pseuds/MashiarasDream
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam finds a case that requires Dean and Cas to move into a house in suburbia, where the pretend couple immediately gets welcomed by their neighbors Steve and Bucky. But there’s something off about those two, especially with the way that Cas immediately takes a liking to Steve. That just can’t be. Cas never just likes someone. And why the hell do their neighbors have to be so hot anyway?<br/>Or, the one where both Dean and Cas and Steve and Bucky are undercover and pretending to be in a relationship is simultaneously harder and easier than it should be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to you, ViviTargaryen, for your lovely live-comments.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is how everything begins...

**_Steve and Bucky_**

“And we’re sure about this?“ Bucky asks. He’s smiling his most convincing smile and waving at the new neighbors. “He looks like a tax accountant.”

Steve’s not sure that Bucky’s most convincing smile is very convincing yet. It looks more like he’s gritting his teeth. But the neighbors are far enough away that he doesn’t think they’ll notice. So he waves at them, too, before taking two of the grocery bags out of the trunk of their SUV. Their colorful SUV. Which Stark assured him had all the tech benefits of an actual SHIELD mobile without the drawback of being completely conspicuous. “Banner looks like a nerd, too,” he says easily. Bucky hasn’t had the pleasure of meeting the green guy yet, but the reference shouldn’t be lost on him.

“Thought we were talking inhuman and not radiation here,” Bucky replies with a shrug.

So Bucky’s done his homework. Steve nods, pleased even though it’s still a soldier thing, being prepared at all times, not a thing that is genuinely Bucky. But it’s better than just waiting for orders like he’s done in the beginning. “Inhuman, radiation, no one knows. All SHIELD’s figured out is that there’s something off about the guy. Hence, us.”

“Isn’t this shit below your pay grade?” Bucky asks and grabs the other two grocery bags.

Now it’s Steve’s turn to shrug. He can’t quite come out and say that he begged to get this assignment. To get the chance to get Bucky away from the Avengers’ Tower for a while.

It’s not even the missions. It’s the constant prodding and probing. Stark wanting to get his hands on the workings of Bucky’s arm. Banner wanting to talk anger management. Nat and Clint – well, they are Nat and Clint. They’re not too bad. Actually, Nat’s probably Bucky’s only friend apart from Steve. He should have seen that coming. Their history is not the same, but they share a Russian past. And if he’s got to share Bucky with someone, Steve’s glad it is Natasha. Ever since the whole deal at the Triskelion, he trusts Natasha more than about anyone else. Apart from Bucky himself, that is.

He smiles at Bucky’s back where he is already disappearing into the house. Pretty much everyone has called Steve mad for this. For trusting Bucky with his life, when Bucky doesn’t trust himself to pick out cereal at the store. He’s got a feeling that their house has Tony on speed dial, too, and that any incident is going to be reported back to the Avengers’ Tower. Ah well, he’s just gotta make sure that there are no incidents.

 

An hour later they’re sitting on their porch, conveniently located so that they can see the comings and goings on the other side of the fence.

“You should offer them refreshments,” Bucky says.

“Like what? Homemade lemonade?” Steve asks, shorter than he wants to be. But the 1940s vibe of the street is getting to him.

“I could make some,” Bucky answers, not reacting to the tone at all.

“You remember how to do that?” Steve asks surprised. Bucky’s made lemonade and iced teas for him in the hot summers of the early 40s, when Steve was too engrossed in painting to care for hydration.

Bucky rolls his eyes. “Stark showed me how to use google.”

“Oh,” Steve replies and feels disappointed. Then he reminds himself that he should be glad that Bucky remembers him at all.

“Could you sound any more enthusiastic,” Bucky shakes his head. “Thought you’d approve of me getting to know the new technologies.”

He hides it well, but Bucky’s still got that look of a kicked puppy. “I do,” Steve hurries to say. “You’re so much more tech-savvy than me, it’s amazing.”

It’s not an empty praise, either. Bucky’s actually taking much faster to modern life than Steve did. But it definitely doesn’t hurt saying it out loud, because Bucky suddenly has one of his rare smiles going and he’s ducking his head like he wants to hide a blush. “I’ll go make that lemonade,” he mumbles and is gone before Steve can say anything else.

 

Steve feels like a fossil for real when they finally make their way over to the new neighbors, a tray with homemade lemonade in hand. They’re giving off a Stepford vibe that would have him suspicious of himself if he didn’t know better. But he tries to smile when they approach the neighboring house.

It’s not just the one they’re interested in, ‘tax accountant guy’ as Bucky has dubbed him. There’s also two others, the one they think has intimate relations with tax accountant guy, and a tall dude, who as far as they can tell is boyfriend’s brother. It’s hard to say since the whole group is using so many fake IDs that not even SHIELD was completely clear on who everyone is. Hence, the need for undercover agents to figure it out.

Steve tenses when boyfriend turns to them. It’s a small motion, the movement immediately aborted, but he sees how the guy’s hand strays towards his waistband. Going for a gun before remembering that they’re moving in and shouldn’t shoot the neighbors. Alright, suddenly he doesn’t feel quite so out of place anymore. At least Steve remembered his role well enough that he didn’t forget that he’s not supposed to shoot anyone.

“Hello there, neighbors,” Bucky calls out from where he’d stayed a half step behind Steve.

Oh yeah, Steve remembers, they’re supposed to make conversation and build trust. “We brought lemonade,” he says lamely. “Thought you might be thirsty. What with you moving in and everything.” Right. Way to state the obvious, he sighs inwardly. He might be out of the ice longer than Bucky’s been away from HYDRA, but his small talk skills are still lacking.

Fortunately, he doesn’t seem to be the only one with problems in that regard, because tax accountant guy squints at the lemonade like it’s personally offending him, and boyfriend still looks like he’d rather shoot his way out of this than engage in social interaction.

It’s tall guy who saves them. He rolls his eyes at the other two and shoulders his way past them. “Chill, dudes,” he says to his companions and turns to Steve, stretching out a hand for him to take. “You got to excuse them, they’re not always this rude. They just have their preconceived notions about suburbia. Which I’m sure your new neighbors don’t share,” he adds with a hard glare towards his friends.

“Uhh, I’m not sure I follow?” Steve says confused and juggles the tray around a bit to be able to shake the guy’s hand. “I’m Steve by the way.”

“Sam,” the tall guy nods, “and I mean the whole two guys moving in together thing. Still a bit of a novelty in suburbia, isn’t it?”

“Uhh,” Steve says intelligently.

“Well, they got used to us without too much trouble. I’m James,” Bucky saves him, though Steve has to swallow at the insinuation in Bucky’s words that he’s not sure was entirely intended. Though it might have been. Once upon a time, it would have been. If just because he knew it would make Steve blush. But now? It might be part of their cover or it might be innocent or it might be Bucky having fun riling Steve. He can’t tell.

“I can’t see how that could have gone any other way, what with the nice welcome you’re giving Dean and Cas - Castiel,” Sam smiles. “Also, I keep telling my brother that Americans are becoming more accepting of alternate lifestyles and to stop being such a worrywart.”

While Sam seems to be enjoying himself and keeps holding onto Bucky’s hand, his brother – actually his brother it seems – is openly scowling now.

“Lemonade?” Steve asks and shoulders his way in between Bucky and Sam when he thinks the handshake has gone on long enough.

“Of course,” Sam laughs and lets go.

There’s a tiny smirk in Bucky’s eye when he looks over at Steve, or at least Steve thinks it’s there. His imagination might be playing tricks on him. Then Bucky grabs the pitcher and fills the glasses to hand them out one by one. It’s surreal, seeing Bucky like this, perfectly docile, serving drinks, like he’s not only playing the role of the suburbanite, but like he actually takes a weird sort of pleasure in filling the role of the 1940s housewife in this little charade.

“So, what’s the deal with the arm?” Brother slash boyfriend asks when Bucky hands him his glass. It sounds hostile and Steve can’t help but notice that in opposition to Sam, who immediately took a sip of his lemonade, boyfriend guy doesn’t. He gives his significant other a meaningful glance, too, that Steve takes to mean as ‘let’s see whether Sam keels over first before we try this concoction’. His glare gets even harder when his boyfriend doesn’t listen, and instead sniffs at the lemonade, then tries it, and finally downs half his glass in one big gulp.

“Oh, war injury,” Bucky says lightly. “I hope it doesn’t make you uncomfortable.”

“Just doesn’t seem like your typical prosthesis, is all,” the guy grumbles.

“That’s because it isn’t. It’s state of the art. Sort of an experiment, actually. Which is the only way I can afford tech like that,” Bucky laughs and if you don’t know him as well as Steve does, you probably don’t even notice how uncomfortable the topic makes him.

“Buck,” Steve says quietly, trying to let him know that it’s alright to change the topic if he’s uncomfortable.

“It’s okay, Steve,” Bucky smiles and turns back to the others. “Steve here helps. With - everything. He’s always there when I need him.”

“That’s very nice. Isn’t that nice, Dean? Always being there for each other.”

The voice is deeper than Steve expected, startling him somewhat. There is no friendly smile to go with the words and boyfriend guy – Dean - cringes ever so slightly at the words. There’s something there, history that they don’t know of. But it’s the first time the guy they’re after is talking, so Steve takes it as a good sign.

“We all try our best to be there for our loved ones, don’t we?” Steve says and it doesn’t come out quite as light and small talk as he intended it to be.

Squinty guy’s eyes soften somewhat at the words and he even gives him a smile. “They make it hard sometimes.”

It’s also meant to sound casual, Steve is sure, but it is anything but.

“Uhh, guys, I don’t want to interrupt, but we really should keep working. I’ve got to get out of here in a few hours,” Sam says, fidgeting slightly. “It was really good to meet you, though.”

“You, too,” Steve nods and hands the tray over to Sam, if only to make sure there will be no shaking Bucky’s hand to say goodbye. “Keep the rest of the lemonade. You can bring back the tray and the glasses whenever.”

“Thanks,” Sam nods.

“See you around, neighbors.” This time, Bucky’s smile could almost be mistaken for genuine, and for a second there, Steve thinks Bucky’s going to smuggle his hand into Steve’s but he doesn’t. He just comes closer until his arm is almost brushing Steve’s and then looks up at him, waiting demurely for Steve to lead them home. There is something about it that is deeply unsettling.

 

***

**_Dean and Cas_**

As soon as the new neighbors are out of sight Sam turns around to look scoldingly at Dean, “Seriously, Dean? May I remind you that you are supposed to fit in? You can’t treat your new neighbors like this.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “Even you have to admit that there is something off about them.”

“I think they are very nice,” Cas states dryly.

Dean sighs. He knows when he is outnumbered. “Still doesn’t mean that I have to trust them,” he mumbles petulantly.

Sam shakes his head. “No one told you that you have to trust them. Come on, we should probably talk about this inside. Who knows who might be listening.”

For once, Dean has to agree with his little brother and without any further comment he turns around and goes inside. Sam looks questioningly at Cas but the angel just shrugs. Right, his brother is an idiot sometimes, Sam remembers.

Inside, a few unopened boxes are scattered around the floor. There hadn’t actually been that much they had to pack, since neither Cas nor Dean own that much in the first place. It is mostly lore and weapons. The house itself came already furnished with the essentials, though Dean immediately complained about the lack of TV and Netflix. Sam guesses that that will be the first thing Dean remedies, even before buying the rest of the furniture and accessories they need. Like sheets for the queen sized bed for example. No way Sam is staying for that part.

“So you think our new neighbors are nice?” Dean rounds in on Cas and Sam turns to head over to the kitchen to put the lemonade down. He doesn’t want to be a part of this conversation. Not with the way that there had been a dangerous glint in Dean’s eyes when Cas had not hesitated drinking the lemonade after giving the tall blonde guy – Steve was it? – a smile.

“Yes, Dean,” Cas answers, drawing out the answer like he’s already exasperated by this whole deal. “I think them nice. It was very considerate of Steve to bring us lemonade.”

Dean apparently chokes on his spit because he starts coughing violently. “Yeah, tall, well-built considerate Steve… Who the hell is called Steve anyway?”

“Dean,” Cas counters sternly. “Don’t hate on the name. I chose it for myself when I was human, remember?”

There is a grumble and a muttered, “Well, yeah, I didn’t like that, either.” And then the sound of something being lifted off the ground. “I’ll bring this upstairs.”

Half a minute later, an upset angel joins Sam in the kitchen. “I don’t think this is a very good idea, Sam. Dean does not want to do this.”

Sam sighs. “Well, tough shit. He’ll just have to deal. I’ve already introduced myself as the brother. It would be hella weird to change the arrangements now.” Also, he doesn’t want to. He wants to get out of here and let his brother and the angel figure this whole thing out for themselves. Also, he might or might not want to get back to Lebanon to pick up the puppy he found last week from the shelter.

“But are you really sure that this case warrants all of this? I mean, renting a house is beyond what we normally do.”

“Yeah, Cas, I know,” Sam pats the angel on the arm awkwardly. “But I’m sure you two can figure it out.” He hopes like hell they can, anyway, because living in the bunker with the permanent tension between these two has become impossible. “I’ll hit the books and send you anything relevant, okay?”

“If you’re sure,” Cas growls and manages to sound even more disgruntled than Dean.

“Look, Cas, it’s not you,” Sam soothes, though he’s pretty sure that it is absolutely Cas, just in a different way than Cas thinks right now. “Dean’s not good with humans sometimes, you’re going to have to help him adapt.”

And if Cas’ eyes could bulge out of his head they probably would. “You want me to help Dean deal with humans?”

Sam laughs a little self-consciously, because yeah, on the surface it makes no sense at all that dorky Angel of the Lord Castiel should be the one who’s better at human interaction, but the point stands. “Dean’s good with playing a role for a day, be it the efficient FBI agent or the friendly counselor. But he ain’t good at relationships. You got to help him with that, Cas.”

Cas just squints at him confused and, yeah, Sam is getting nowhere here. Short of actually spelling this out – and you can drag his soul right back to hell before he’s having that talk with Cas, thank you very much.

“You know what, you two can figure it out together. What a normal life means. What you got to do to make it work.”

Now Cas is not only confused, he looks downright suspicious and his voice is hard when he answers. “Do you plan on kicking me out again? Because if you do, you better say it outright, not set up a flimsy case to, I don’t know - train me up to be able to cope on my own? I’m still millenia old, I coped fine without the two of you.”

“Jesus, Cas,” Sam holds his hands up in defense and takes a few steps backward to get some space between them. Angry angel is never good, no matter how fallen. “You’re family, okay? No one is planning on throwing you out. Dean shouldn’t have done it the first time around, either. Alright?”

Cas scowls at him like nothing is alright, and yeah, it probably isn’t. But it’s the best Sam can do right this second.

“Look, Cas, it’s just a month or so, okay? Dean will get his shit together.” He’s pleading now and he knows it. He probably also shouldn’t make it so obvious that he plans on actually letting them sit here for at least this whole month.

But Cas doesn’t seem to notice, instead he nods with a huff. “The lemonade is actually pretty good, you know.”

“Yeah, still maybe don’t flirt too much with that Steve guy.” And Sam should really know when to keep his trap shut because he’s getting hit with an indignant stare that he thinks might actually be able to kill him.

“I did not!”

“Okay, okay, Cas, it was a joke, of course you did not. Umm, and I think I really need to be on my way to get back to Lebanon before nightfall. You two good with unpacking the boxes and everything?”

“Yes. We are quite capable, Sam.”

Sam would like to argue that point, if for the sole reason that if they actually were that capable, he’d never have had to go to these desperate lengths to give them a shot at working this out, but hey, he’s got to put at least some trust in them. “I’ll go say goodbye to Dean then and be on my way.”

 

***

**_Steve and Bucky_**

“You got to give it to SHIELD, their info is good,” Bucky remarks once they’re safely back inside their own house. “Didn’t actually think the guys would show.”

Steve shrugs. “SHIELD’s been tracking them for a while now. It showed up on their radar when they signed the lease.”

“But SHIELD couldn’t give us names? Or a description that fit them a bit more accurately?” Bucky scoffs.

“Fit them more accurately?” Steve frowns. Because Bucky knows as well as Steve that SHIELD is all about telling only as much as is necessary to achieve the mission parameters, and they did have pictures.

“No one told us they were – specimen.”

“What?”

“Well, tall, handsome, broad-shouldered - you’ve seen them, right? There won’t be a minute of peace as soon as the cougars notice them.”

Steve suppresses his cough and tries to keep his face blank. “Looks like you’ve noticed them, too.”

Bucky has the audacity to laugh at that, and while Steve is happy about any emotion he can draw out of Bucky these days, he still doesn’t really appreciate it when it’s at his expense.

“You’re one to talk. Like you didn’t notice that Cas guy.”

“At least I didn’t hold his hand for the better part of ten minutes,” Steve grits out and it’s not worthy of Captain America to get worked up over this, but he can’t help it.

“Jeez, Steve, you’re getting into the role of the jealous husband too much.”

It’s said flippantly but it leaves them in an awkward silence when Steve has no idea what to answer to that. “Sorry,” is all he finally mumbles.

Bucky sighs and shrugs. “It’s fine. We’re going to have to play our parts, so if you’re getting into it, that’s all the better I guess. That Dean is quick with the trigger finger.”

“You noticed that, too, huh?”

Bucky nods. His memory may have more holes than Swiss cheese, but his tactical instincts have yet to fail him.

“For the record, I didn’t notice that Cas guy. It was - camaraderie, is all.” A weird sort of camaraderie, that for a moment there felt not unlike what happens in the trenches. Just in this case, the common cause was being two husbands trying to keep their bratty spouses from doing something they’d regret later. It made sense for a minute there.

Steve rubs a hand over his face. All of this is way too confusing.

“You don’t gotta explain yourself to me, Cap,” Bucky says and while he’s stoic as ever, Steve’s still got the feeling that there is something like sadness lingering in his eyes.

“You’re my friend, Buck. Of course I do,” Steve replies, using the nickname to counter the ‘Cap’ on purpose.

Bucky acknowledges it with a nod but doesn’t probe any further. Instead he changes topic. “Want to try out whether either of us remembers how to make a decent meal without Tony’s support staff to help?”

“We grew up during the depression, don’t think we ever knew,” Steve sighs.

“Time to learn new things, then,” Bucky says and the determined look on his face is the same the tackles a new weapon with.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Buying sheets is more complicated than it sounds.

**_Dean and Cas_**

Dean doesn’t know what he did to deserve this or at which point in his life he went wrong. It was probably early on.

“Now, can you _at least_ tell me which size sheets you need for your bed?” The woman asks him and Dean can tell that she wants this to be over as much as he does.

Who would have thought that buying freaking duvet covers and sheets for a bed could be this hard? Cas is still grumpy that Dean didn’t want the bee-covers for their blankets or any of ten other options from the _kids_ section. Dean has to admit that he liked the Star Wars ones, but he is not 14 anymore, so no point in buying them. After 10 minutes of discussion, they decided to leave the covers behind for now and moved on to buy sheets. That shouldn’t be that hard, should it? It turns out to be much more complicated that Dean thought.

“Size? I thought a sheet was just like a really big piece of fabric that you can throw over anything?” Dean asks unsure.

The saleswoman somehow manages to keep her smile even though ‘strained’ is now an understatement. “Maybe you at least remember what kind of bed you have? Futon? Boxspring? Single, twin, queen, king sized?” she asks and Dean can see how she is about to give up unless he says something that makes sense.

“Yeah… Our bed is - kingsized? I think. It’s pretty big,” Dean says and tries to desperately remember whether someone has ever mentioned that.

“Oh.” The woman’s eyes dart to Cas and back to Dean.

And, oops, Dean said ‘our bed’, didn’t he? Dean can feel the blush creep into his face. It is not that he shouldn’t have said that or she shouldn’t be assuming what it means. It is great if people assume things, because that’s the plan. Dean seriously needs to get used to it, otherwise he will never be able to act normal in front of their neighbors. He should learn how to be a husband. Pretend to be a husband. Cas’ husband. And that’s probably the problem.

Because it is Cas, and Dean doesn’t know where they stand, not anymore. They’ve both done so much wrong, fought Heaven and Hell (literally) and now… now they seem to be out of sync. Always too close and too far away at the same time.

“You might want to look in this section,” the woman says and shows them where the king-sized sheets are.

Dean thanks her and she nods, glancing shortly at Cas, who is keeping his distance like the sulky angel he is, before she excuses herself with a polite, “I hope you find what you are looking for.”

“Me too,” Dean answers and hopes it doesn’t sound as desperate as he feels. If he’d ever known how exhausting it is to buy sheets, he’d have taken better care not to get monster blood on so many of them. But then, when you save someone’s life, they probably take having to buy new sheets in exchange.

He waits until the woman is out of sight before he turns to Cas who is still looking anywhere but at him. It makes Dean wonder whether he’s always been this stubborn or whether he’s learned it from them.

“What color do you want?” Dean asks while nodding towards the sheets.

Cas turns to him and raises one eyebrow, a picture of indignant innocence. “Huh?”

“What color? For the sheets?” Dean asks as pleasantly as he can.

Cas squints at him and jeez, when Cas is pissed it radiates out in waves. “Do you really want my opinion? Because it didn’t seem like you valued my input before. Or do I have to remind you that you already pointed out that I don’t even need to sleep enough to care about the pattern of the covers?”

They haven’t talked about anything feelings-related in the days (weeks? lifetimes?) before Sam found this case and suggested they move in together. Dean still wonders what made him think that this was a good idea or how he even agreed to this. Maybe he thought for one moment that he could fix things doing this. But obviously he can’t even do normal things like buying stuff for a home. Their home, even though it is only temporary.

“Look, Cas.. I..,” Dean swallows hard. This is not what he wants to do, but shopping with a sulking angel is no fun, either. “I am sorry, okay?” And somehow it means more than just sorry for yelling at Cas for wanting to shop in the kids’ section.

“About what?” Cas asks like the creepy mind-reader that he is, and comes a step closer into Dean’s personal space.

Dean stares at him, and opens his mouth but no sound comes out. He can’t. Not right now. Not in the middle of a store. They shouldn’t be having this discussion in public while they’re supposed to be a couple, anyway. So instead, he says, “Just - sorry. For, you know, everything.” Then he quickly asks, “What color sheets, Cas?”

Cas has his head tilted like he’s trying to puzzle Dean out, but to Dean’s relief he gets with the program and lets it slide, pointing to a stack of grass green sheets. “Those. I like those.”

Dean doesn’t ask. “We need two anyway, so is it okay if I choose the second color?”

Cas shrugs. “It’s your house, too.”

Without hesitation, Dean takes the blue sheets. It’s a pretty color, alright? No need to dig deeper into his own motives. “Want to try with the blankets again?” he asks.

Cas huffs, so he’s still miffed about the bees. Dean groans, but at the same time, he doesn’t like Cas being upset with him. Never likes it, not even with small stuff like this. He feels guilty enough about everything he did to his friend over the years, doesn’t need to add to it.

“Okay, Cas,” he sighs. “Compromise? We’ll get you the bee ones, but we get a second set in the grown-up section so that Sam won’t make fun of me forever, okay?”

He almost expects Cas to tell him how fragile he thinks Dean’s self-worth must be if it hinges on the pattern of the covers on his bed, but that might be his own mind-set, because Cas’ eyes brighten. “I like that compromise. Are you sure?”

And yeah, this hopeful look on Cas’ face is why Dean is fucked when it comes to the angel. How can anyone say No to that? “Yes, Cas, I’m sure. Come on, let’s buy the bees.”

 

***

**_Steve and Bucky_**

“Seriously, how can SHIELD afford having Captain America spend his time looking at _this_?” Face slightly disgusted, Bucky holds up a table cloth with a yellow and orange flower pattern. “This isn’t even retro, this is plain tacky.”

“Keep your voice down, Buck, please,” Steve sighs because there’s too many people around to be careless.

“Or what? They’re going to notice us? They’re way too busy fighting with each other. Are we even sure they’re not human?”

“Bucky!!” Steve rounds in on him, grabbing his non-metal arm for emphasis.

The change is immediate. There is a shudder running through Bucky and he goes limp in Steve’s grasp, averting his eyes.

“Fuck,” Steve mutters and lets go. “Fuck. Bucky, I’m sorry.”

There’s a nod but no answer.

Steve should count himself lucky, he guesses, that Bucky’s reaction to him when he perceives Steve angry is to cease and desist, and wait for punishment or new orders. But he doesn’t feel lucky. In a way, it would feel better if Bucky’s first instinct was to attack him. It is that way with Stark, and even with Banner (though they have told him what a singularly bad idea that is). Banner had also been the one who had provided the hopeful view that Bucky somewhere deep down remembers that he can trust Steve no matter what. Steve is more inclined to believe Natasha’s interpretation, who has given him a shrug and a laconic, ‘Someone’s got to give the orders. Since it’s not HYDRA anymore, it might as well be you, gramps. Better get used to it.’

It had made Steve want to throw up because if there’s one thing he doesn’t want to do, it’s taking HYDRA’s place in Bucky’s mind. Natasha’s answer to that had been just as pragmatic. ‘Then don’t.’

God, he misses Nat. It’s like she is the only one who can interpret for them.

Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to do this after all. To flee from the doctors and therapists and their friends. Yeah, Bucky is flirty and snarky and seems almost back to his old self on the surface, but the cracks show the minute something goes even slightly askew.

Steve takes a deep breath. “We’re still within mission parameters,” he says determinedly, having found that wording this drily is the only way how he can get through it without breaking down. “You haven’t done anything wrong. There is no change to our orders.”

All he gets is another nod from Bucky who still doesn’t meet his eyes. There’s never an apology, never an attempt to correct things, just a quiet acceptance of what’s going to happen next. Yes, Steve’s feeling physically sick again.

Because he doesn’t know what else to do, he slides his hand into Bucky’s. “Come on. Let’s do what we set out to do and stay close to them.”

 

It was probably a bad idea, taking Bucky’s hand. Not because Bucky seems opposed to it. In the opposite, after an initial suppressed flinch, born out of the not quite dissolved expectation of punishment, Steve thinks (and God does he want to punch anyone who’s ever hurt Bucky), Bucky holds on tightly, even if he stays quieter than normal.

No, the problem isn’t Bucky. The problem is Steve. Because kissing Natasha when undercover? Piece of cake. Holding Bucky’s hand? Not so much.

Holding Bucky’s hand produces the kind of static in Steve’s brain that makes it hard to inconspicuously follow their targets. Hell, it makes it hard to walk without tripping over his own feet. Because that’s Bucky’s hand in his and yeah, they’re not a real couple, this is a spy thing, but that doesn’t change that Bucky’s skin is warm and that he grips tight and that it feels real. And as such, it feels exactly like something he’s wanted to do since the 40s and never thought he’d get a chance to. Not like this, anyway. Not openly in a shopping mall on a random day, like it is the most normal thing in the world to hold the hand of someone you love. Even if that someone happens to be a guy when you are a guy, too.

Yeah, they’ve held each other plenty during the war. Cold nights, trenches, far away from home, always in danger of dying. Holding on to each other then is one thing. This here, this feels like a dream he’s never dared to dream and even if he knows it isn’t real, he still kind of wants it to never end.

So much so, that he doesn’t even notice that they’re running into their targets before Bucky tugs on his hand urgently.

The trench-coat guy – Cas – stares at them and for a second Steve feels like the guy can see right through to his soul. All his failures, his flaws, every time he failed himself or - worse - Bucky, out in the open. He hopes to God that that isn’t the guy’s superpower. And not even because he’d make them then.

“What a coincidence to meet you here,” the blonde guy says, stepping in front of his boyfriend. A protective one, Steve figures.

“Yes, what a surprise!” Steve breathes out as casually as he can, too aware of everything, but especially their clasped hands, to even find a semblance of calm. He doesn't let go, though, since they are supposed to be a couple. Which means that for now he has all the right in the world to hold onto Bucky and he will take advantage of that.

 

***

**_Dean and Cas_**

Dean doesn't believe in coincidences. Meeting Steve and James here can't be one. Though this is the only big shopping mall near their street. So it might be one. But then, Steve and James being here at the exact same time? Smells fishy to him.

“It is nice to see you again,” Cas says from behind him and steps forward. Dean has no idea why he’d felt the need to shoulder his way between Cas and their neighbors anyway. Even fallen Cas can take care of himself. And so far, their neighbors haven’t tried to attack them. Though that Steve guy keeps looking at Cas. Dean doesn’t like that. At all.

“Indeed. We were just looking for… shower curtains,” Steve explains with an open smile that seems just a little bit too much. Dean doesn't trust him. No one can be this all-American and not hide something. Though maybe he’s mostly hiding the skeletons in his boyfriend’s closet. I mean, come on, a metal arm? Dean’s got to do some googling, but he’s reasonably sure that that’s not normal tech.

“That’s nice. We are looking for some accessories for our new home, too. It is hard to find an agreement sometimes,” Cas answers and Dean wants to kick him for it. They really don't have to know all of that. But he remembers their conversation about keeping up appearances. Right, he doesn't need to trust them, but he needs to play nice – for now.

“That is what a relationship is about, though, don't you agree? Working together to make life good for everyone involved, whether it’s small stuff like accessories or - big stuff,” Steve says and Dean is not sure whether he is talking to them or to his partner. Who has been suspiciously quiet so far, seeing how flirty he’s been during their first meeting.

Dean’s doing it grudgingly, of course, but he has to agree with Steve. The keyword in his sentence being together. Not that he and Cas seem to be up to par on that front lately. Even now, though Cas is standing by his side, he’s keeping himself carefully poised so that his shoulder doesn’t brush Dean’s.

Which is of course the moment when Dean notices that Steve is holding his boyfriend's hand. Just like that. As if there’s nothing to it, he’s doing it all casual and relaxed. As if he wants to scream into Dean's face 'Look how easy this is!'

Easy his ass. But dammit, Cas and Dean are supposed to be a couple, too. Yeah, they’re a bickering stressed out version, but God help him, he’ll not be out-coupled by his neighbors just because he’s too chicken-shit to hold Cas’ hand. If they can do it, Dean can do it, too.

Still, there’s a nervous lump in Dean’s throat and he has to swallow it down before he reaches for Cas’ hand. He fumbles for a moment because he’s not brave enough to actually look at Cas while he’s doing it. There is an initial jolt of surprise and for a second Dean thinks Cas is going to shake his hand off. But then Cas’ fingers grip his and when Dean gathers enough courage to look at Cas out of the corner of his eye, there’s even a small smile on his face. Dean lets out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding.

“So, uhh, why don't you come by our place tomorrow? We still have your tray and glasses, and you’ve been so welcoming to us, we’d like to return the favor.” The words are out of Dean’s mouth before he can think about them. It’s probably his confusion over holding Cas’ hand speaking but once said he can’t take it back.

Especially not since the blonde guy immediately takes him up on it. “That’s a great idea,” he nods. “We’d love to come by.”

And yeah, maybe Dean doesn’t even want to take the invitation back, though Cas looks at him weirdly. But having visitors over means having to pretend they’re a couple means maybe getting to hold Cas’ hand again. And Dean would do a lot for that. Even entertain the two hunks from next door.

“Uhh, Bucky, if you’re up for it, I mean?” Steve asks his partner, and it sounds a bit like an afterthought but it also sounds somewhat worried.

Bucky - and didn’t he say his name was James? Dean is not letting go of the opinion that there’s something fishy about these two - looks up at his partner and nods. “Of course, Steve.”

“Cause you know, if you’re not feeling up to it, then…”

“It’s okay, Steve. It really is.”

And okay, that feels like they’ve stumbled onto a private conversation, and Dean’s got to avert his eyes because the two are looking at each other with such concern and softness that it makes him want to puke. Or possibly makes him extremely jealous. Either or.

Averting his eyes doesn’t necessarily make things any better, though, because of course he ends up looking at Cas. Who he will never be allowed to look at with such adoration and warmth. Even if in rare moments of weakness he has to admit to himself that he wants it so much that it hurts. But too much has happened between them. They have hurt each other too many times. Dean has almost killed Cas very recently. And he still hasn’t found the right words to apologize for that. He doubts that there are the right words. It’s more likely that he can’t make up for it. Ever.

And that sucks but in a way, it’s okay, too. Easier. Dean’s used to not getting what he wants. And he hasn’t lost Cas completely, Cas is still his friend. Hell, he trusts him enough to move in with him for this case. To let Dean hold his hand. So Dean’s just going to make the best of what he’s allowed to have. This case and the suburbia thing are enough of a cover to have a chance to at least earn as much trust back as he can.

He makes a resolution right then and there: He’s going to be the best pretend boyfriend there’s ever been. The nicest and least grumpy one. He’s going to sleep in frikking bee-covered duvets if that makes Cas happy and even though he needs more sleep than Cas, he’s going to give the bed to him and take the couch for himself. It’s only fair anyway, since Cas wouldn’t need to sleep at all if he was at full angel power and he would be at full angel power if it wasn’t for Dean. And to top it off, Dean’s going to make his signature burgers for everyone tomorrow and he’s going to convince Cas that it wasn’t a mistake to stay Dean’s friend. Yes, that’s exactly what he’s going to do.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's complicated.

**_Steve and Bucky_**

They end up buying nothing but some Asian take out and that only at Steve’s insistence. But Steve’s not in the mood for trying his cooking skills tonight. Or Bucky’s for that matter. Though Bucky’s still too quick to acquiesce to Steve’s food choices. He doesn’t comment on it, though, at least not until they’re safely back home. Only then does he ask, “Can we talk about this, Buck?”

Bucky looks uncomfortable but he nods. Of course he nods.

“You can say no, you know. Nothing bad’s going to happen,” Steve says and makes the conscious choice to lean back against the kitchen counter and be as far out of Bucky’s personal space as the kitchen allows. He can never judge it correctly these days, when his presence is comforting and when he’s just crowding Bucky.

“You’ve told me that before,” Bucky answers.

“I know,” Steve nods. “But there’s a difference between hearing something and actually knowing in your heart that it’s true. So I’m telling you again.”

“It’s my job to listen to you, Steve,” Bucky says softly.

It’s not that simple and they both know it. “Do you remember the Howling Commandos?” Steve asks.

Bucky shakes his head. “I‘m sorry,” he mumbles.

“Not your fault,” Steve says quickly. “I was your superior in that unit, too. First time you were under my command. Do you want to know how that went?”

He chuckles at the memory. Not that the others had been particularly good with command structure. Steve’s saving grace had been that he had made up for his lack of experience with his willingness to throw himself into any danger as long as the cause was fair, and the others had respected that and followed him for it. But him and Buck? They’d understood each other without words. Bucky flawlessly knew where Steve needed him to be on their missions.

Bucky repeats, “I’m sorry”, and it brings Steve back to the present.

He rubs a hand over his face. But it does nothing to wipe away how drained he feels. How much it hurts. The therapists have told him that it’s good to talk about the old stories. That he should do it as often as possible. That no one knows what might trigger a memory.

And Steve wants to help so much, but no one’s told him how hard this would be on him. How it would eat at him that he’s carrying all of their memories on his own. How hollow it feels to recount something fond and see only blankness in Bucky’s face. How the memories seem to lose color and vibrancy with it.

“I’d love to spend tonight drawing,” Steve says. “Would that be okay with you?”

 

He gets out his pastels after they’ve eaten their take out. Stooped over on the porch steps, bathed in the soft light of evening, Bucky somewhere in the house behind him, is the closest Steve’s ever gotten to recreating the evenings in their apartment before the war. It gives him a strange sort of comfort. Like something in the world is still the way it’s supposed to be.

He spares a few moments to see whether he can make out any movement in their neighbor’s house, but it seems quiet. He shudders again at the very recent memory of piercing blue eyes staring right into his soul. Yeah, something is off with that guy. But he won’t solve the riddle today and they’ve got time to figure it out.

So he chooses a dark green and starts drawing.

And doesn’t stop until a glass appears between him and the paper. He jumps and almost knocks over the glass.

“It’s getting dark, you’re going to ruin your eyes.”

For a second, Steve can’t breathe.

“That’s the rest of the lemonade, in case you were wondering. Can I see what you’re drawing?”

Coincidence then, not a memory. Air is still very slow in coming back. So instead of answering, Steve pushes the drawing towards Bucky.

It’s not even half-finished but it’s pretty clear what it’s supposed to show. Their campsite in the French Ardennes. Dum Dum, Bucky and the others are playing cards, Steve is sitting with his back against a tree, the only one not taking part. His own face isn’t done yet but Steve knows where he’s looking. The memory is clear as if it happened only yesterday.

“That’s me,” Bucky points to a mostly finished figure, cards held loosely in his hands, concentrated not on the game but on watching Steve. There’s an easy smirk playing on image-Bucky’s lips that has yet to make an appearance in the modern world.

“Yes,” Steve confirms.

“And that’s you?” Bucky points to the figure leaning against the tree.

“Yes,” Steve nods again.

“Seems like I was more interested in you than in the game.”

Steve huffs quietly. Bucky had folded in the next round and come over to smoke a cigarette next to Steve. Doesn’t prove anything, but it doesn’t disprove Bucky’s statement, either.

“Steve? Can I ask you a question?” Bucky’s still staring at the picture, softly rubbing a thumb over the pastels. He stops when the colors start to smear.

“Of course,” Steve nods.

He is reminded of how bad his hearing was before the serum, he has to strain so much to understand what Bucky says next. “What were we to each other, back then?”

_Everything._

But that answer is not acceptable, has never been acceptable. Is definitely not acceptable now when Steve, as Bucky reminded him so pointedly just a few hours ago, is Bucky’s superior officer during this mission. This mission which blurs the boundaries anyway. At a point in time when Bucky doesn’t even remember enough about himself to know when Steve’s barrels over the boundaries between them. At a point in time when Bucky’s muscle memory is all Winter Soldier and obeying whoever is in charge of him. At a point in time when he doesn’t know how to say No to Steve.

Steve closes his eyes and schools his features into something that he hopes shows warmth and none of the despair that clutches his heart. “Friends, Buck. We were best friends.”

 

***

**_Dean and Cas_**

“The sheets are too big,” Cas states the obvious.

Dean sighs. “At least they are not too small.” The bed is not as big as he had remembered it, definitely not king-size.

Cas nods as he takes one of the duvets. “I will go make myself a bed on the couch then.”

“No! No way, Cas,” Dean blurts out.

Cas tilts his head questioningly: “No? No what?”

Dean ruffles through his hair and looks anywhere but at Cas. “No way you are sleeping on the couch.”

Cas lets the duvet slide back onto the bed. “I don’t understand.”

Dean huffs. “I will, okay. You have it hard enough with having to sleep at all and stuff…”

“Dean…,” Cas starts but Dean cuts him off.

“I want you to have the freaking bed and sleep in your freaking bee covers and on your green sheets, so just accept it!”

What he doesn’t say are all the other things that are eating at him. But he wants to be the best pretend husband ever and he will be. Even if he has to force Cas to take the nice things that Dean offers him.

“Dean,” Cas says a little louder and he’s using his stern voice so Dean looks up, meets the other man’s eyes. “I can’t accept this. I just need 2 or 3 hours of sleep, Dean. You should at least try to get to 6. You get the chance rarely enough.”

Dean snorts. “Can’t remember when I slept more than 4 hours the last time, even when I had the chance.”

“All the more the reason you should take the bed and try to get some rest. I’m quite okay with the couch,” Cas says stubbornly.

Freaking angel doesn’t want to see what Dean is trying to do here. An idea forms in his mind and he tries to be as casual as he can when he finally says, “Okay, you know what… let’s flip a coin. Heads, you get the bed - tails, I get the bed. There is a 50 - 50 chance for both of us, Cas. It is only fair.”

“If that is what you want,” Cas sighs and Dean nods with a hidden grin, going for his pockets and searching for the coin. Not any coin, but the one that ups the chance for Cas to get the bed to 100%. Technically it is cheating, Dean knows that, but it is for Cas and not against him. Dean really wants Cas to get the bed. Best. fake. husband. ever.

He finds the coin, flips it and he smiles as he says: “Heads, Cas. You get the bed. Now excuse me, I have a couch to prepare.” Before Cas can say anything else Dean is out of the room with his duvet in hand. He can be fast when he wants to be.

 

It takes hours for Dean to fall asleep. Disadvantages to actually having your own bed. With memory foam. Couches don’t do the trick anymore. Or maybe he is just getting old. Of course than it might also be that his mind keeps going in circles, repeating everything that has happened today. They’ve made no fucking progress on the case at all but instead his mind keeps bringing up the way Cas’ hand had felt in his, all warm and firm and _real_. How for one second he had almost forgotten that he isn’t allowed to feel this way. That this is not supposed to make him feel good. If anything, it should make him feel more guilty. Should remind him how much Cas has lost for him. How many angels are dead because of Dean. How many friends. It should remind him that all Cas got as a reward for helping them, for trying to save the world over and over again, is being half-broken, half-human and stuck in suburbia with Dean.

Dean wonders why Cas agreed to this in the first place. Of course Sam can make any plan sound brilliant when he explains it, but frankly, now it sounds like the worst plan on the planet. It might still get them to solve their case, definitely, but Dean might just get himself in so deep that there’s no going back anymore. When that happens, he’ll lose Cas for sure.

Thing is, he’s not sure he can handle that again. He did it before, once, when Cas walked into a lake and didn’t walk out again. And to be honest, the better part of the months following that is shrouded in a mist of alcohol in Dean’s memory, with no way to retrieve a clear picture.

He’d clung on to a shred of hope back then. To a dirty old trench coat in the trunk of his car. Every time he saw the damn thing, he thought about burning it. About giving it a hunter’s funeral and maybe gain some kind of closure to move on. But he never did.

And he’d been right. Because Cas wasn’t dead. Because Cas had lost his memories. And came back to Dean when he regained them. Only this time, Cas’ memories were intact. This time, his memories showed him the same thing that every nightmare showed Dean. An angel-blade sparkling in Dean’s hand. A kill that had been avoided by a hand-span.

That hand-span was all the fight Dean had had left in him then. It was to say ‘leave me alone and find someone better’. It was to say ‘I’m not worth your eternity’. Cause yeah, he hadn’t forgotten that Cas had said that.

God, why is everything so messed up. Dean runs a hand down his face, glad to find no wetness. Crying over spilled milk is not something he does. He just wishes he knew. Whether it was a fluke, a onetime thing. Or whether he actually doesn’t have it in him to kill Cas. He had wanted to kill him during that fight. Had wanted to be rid of him. Of his concern. Of his love. It had all weighed him down, held him back. Kept him sane, he sees that now, but he didn’t back then. Only, he hadn’t killed him. He’d tried to scare him off. And now he was scared that that had worked.

Still, the alternative would have killed them both. Dean’s walking around with a lot of guilt on his shoulders. Dad. Bobby. Ash. Ellen and Jo. Kevin. Charlie. The list goes on. There aren’t many people left. But the few that there are, namely Cas and Sam, Dean doesn’t think he can live with their death on his head.

But he doesn’t think he can live without them in his life, either. He’s too selfish to push them away and towards somewhere safer. So in the end, there’s only one thing he can do. Be the best he can be for them. Try to make sure they’re at least not utterly miserable where they are now. Even if they can never forgive him.

With that thought he finally drifts into sleep.

 

When he wakes up, his back aches. He groans as he sits up, stretching out his muscles and getting rewarded with a series of pops along his spine. There, that feels somewhat better at least. God, he would kill for some memory foam. But then he remembers his thoughts from last night and grits his teeth. Back pain is a small price to pay for Cas’ friendship and not even a start to atoning for everything he did to him.

Slowly, he drags himself into the kitchen, but he stops before he actually enters. Because Cas is sitting at the table, a cup of coffee in front of him and reading the newspaper while he hums - wait - is this Highway to Hell? Dean can’t help smiling, even though the sadness tugs immediately at his heart again, too. Because the last time someone was humming in a suburban kitchen when he woke up, it was Lisa. It was Lisa and he’d woken up in their bed and not on the couch. And yet this, including his aching joints and Cas’ ridiculous bedhead, this feels more solid than that life had ever felt. This feels like he belongs in this picture. Something he’d never felt with Lisa.

An apple pie life. That’s what they call it. And this is the closest he will ever get to it. So he stays for another moment without moving. Watches Cas absentmindedly reaching for his coffee, too engrossed in the newspaper to even look up. He gives himself this one moment to dwell on the illusion. To fill his heart with it so that he can look at it again on dark days. So that he keeps the memory safe for the rest of his life.

 

“Hey, morning,” Dean says to shake himself out of the dream when he finally steps into the kitchen.

Cas looks up. “Morning. Did you sleep well?”

Of course Cas has to ask this. Because he’s Cas. But Dean wouldn’t be Dean if he wasn’t good with the white lies. “Just fine,” he says with a shrug and turns to the coffeepot. “You made coffee.”

Cas huffs. “I am not useless, Dean.”

It stings more than Dean wants to admit.

Because Cas could never be useless. Not when him just being near is the best thing in Dean’s life. But even if he was, Dean would not care. Cas doesn’t need to be useful to be important for Dean... or Sam. All that matters is that he is here, that he is safe with them. ‘But is he really safe with me?’ He hates the thought the second it pops up.

So Dean says: “No one said you were.”

It comes out a little too loud and a little too angry, as usual when his guilt wants to choke him into silence and he has to battle to get the words out at all.

Cas goes rigid with the words, though he’s not looking at Dean’s face anymore. He’s looking at his hands.

Dean looks at his hands, too, but there’s nothing there. He was just going to get coffee after all. “What is it?” he asks, puzzled, and takes a few steps closer to the table.

Abruptly, Cas pushes out of his chair. “I’m going outside. Garden needs work.”

Puzzled turns into worried as Dean watches Cas’ disappear. He looks at his hands again. They’re clean. Unbuttoning his sleeve and pushing it up to his elbow is an automatic movement at this point. He does it anywhere between once and a dozen times a day, depending how stable he feels. He presses his thumb into the spot. It doesn’t help. He can still feel it. He can always feel it, even when he knows the Mark is not there anymore. Even with the visual evidence right before his eyes.

Slowly, he rolls his sleeve back down. Anything good that he’d felt, any slight elation over how Cas had let him hold his hand yesterday, it’s all gone, replaced by images of throwing Cas into a wall. Of Cas’ blood on his hands. Who is Dean kidding? He can be the best pretend boyfriend in the world, it won’t change a thing. He’ll never be able to wipe that blood off.

His hands are shaking when he picks up his mug.

 

Half an hour later, he’s done with his coffee, has checked his email, has reached Sam’s voicemail (“Dammit, Sammy, we have nothing to go on here, give me something. Anything. I don’t care how weak the link is, give me a starting point!”) Dean’s got nothing to do anymore and is still slowly going crazy. He checks on Cas through the window, and yeah, he’s still out there, weeding the flower beds next to the fence to their neighbors’. So Dean leaves him alone. Gives him the space that is the only thing he can give him right now.

Instead, Dean throws himself into cooking. There’s something he’s wanted to try out for ages, and this is his opportunity doing it without Sam making fun of him: Hester Blumenthal’s recipe for fries. It’s a fucked up recipe, needing almost the whole day for one batch of fries, but that’s at least going to get his mind off things and if it works out, it’s going to go great with the burgers tonight. So he throws himself into peeling and slicing potatoes.

 

***

**_Steve and Bucky_**

They’re almost back to normal in the morning. Bucky’s up before Steve, even though Steve gets up early for his morning run. He gets cornered by Bridget, their middle-aged neighbor on the other side, who he thinks is oblivious to any implied relations between Bucky and him. And to pretty much the rest of the world. All she ever cares about is how much she despises her husband and children. Steve’s really got to learn how to extract himself from these conversations faster.

As it is, by the time Steve manages to get home, get showered and dressed, Bucky’s made breakfast.

“Thanks, Buck,” Steve says and shovels a heap of pancakes on his plate, drowning them in syrup. “I can help, though, you know?”

“You can always do the dishes,” Bucky shrugs.

“I will,” Steve promises, glad that Bucky seems more normal.

“The target is out in the garden, weeding, by the way.”

“He is?” Steve asks surprised. He didn’t think the guy in the suit would be into gardening. “Did you talk to him?”

Bucky shakes his head. “Your call, Cap.”

And that puts a damper on his mood, but hell, he is the CO in this. Or something like it anyway. “I understand why you didn’t want to be the one making that choice,” Steve sighs. “It’s metal arm versus my spy skills. Have a feeling the metal arm might be more inconspicuous.”

Surprisingly, that draws a chuckle out of Bucky. “Not happening, Steve. Unless you order me to go talk to him, that is. But that one responds woodenly, your all-American boy charm is going to work better than me and my Russian tricks.”

“Tricks, huh?” Steve raises his eyebrows.

Bucky rolls his eyes, but it’s good-natured. “Not meaning what you’re implying, Steve.”

“I wasn’t implying anything,” Steve defends but can’t help being happy about their banter.

“Just get your ass out there and pretend you know anything about gardening.”

“Well, my old Mama had a garden.”

“That’s been a century, dude.”

“Pretty sure the principles stayed the same. Soil, nutrients, water and seeds equals flowers.”

“He’s gonna be so impressed with your knowledge, he’s going to voluntarily follow us to HQ in no time.”

Steve huffs but of course Bucky is right. Steve knows jack about gardening. It’s not an activity Captain America has much time or use for usually. Still, that doesn’t have to be a disadvantage. “Guess I’m just going to have to do this in my own style, then,” he nods. “Keep an eye on me in case he does something weird?”

“No need to tell me. Would have done that anyway.”

 

“Hey there,” Steve makes his presence known a few steps before he reaches the fence nearest to where tax accountant guy is kneeling.

He’s been attacking the weeds with a vengeance but now he looks up. “Uh, hey.”

“Interesting outfit for weeding,” Steve remarks.

“Uhh,” the guy looks down at himself as if it’s the first time he’s even noticed that he’s still wearing a pair of slacks and a white button-up. Well, it had been white at one point. He sighs. “I don’t think I have a good explanation for this. I was distracted.”

Steve’s eyebrows rise. “Hey, it’s no problem. Last I heard it was completely legal to go gardening in your best pair of pants if you wanted to. Is everything okay, though?”

“Yes, yes of course,” but then the guy trails off, grimacing. “No, actually it isn’t. Not that it makes any difference to you. Did you want something?”

It’s abrupt but Steve isn’t actually sure it’s meant as harsh as it sounds. “Just wanted to ask whether there was anything we could bring tonight. Drinks or salad or something. I’ve heard that’s a thing you do.”

That makes the other guy’s - Castiel’s, Steve has to try and remember the name - eyebrows rise and he gets up to his feet, brushing the dirt of his pants and coming a few paces closer to his side of the fence. “You’ve heard that’s a thing you do? Shouldn’t you be in the know about social norms?”

“Was hoping you could help me out,” Steve says with a dorky smile and rubs the back of his neck. He’s playing it up only a little, he really doesn’t have much idea about today’s social norms concerning parties with neighbors. “Buck and I, we, umm, didn’t really get the chance to adjust to civilian life all that much, yet.”

“I understand,” the other man nods.

“You’re military?” Steve asks because that sounded like it but shouldn’t SHIELD know about this? He’s pretty sure that that should have been in the memo.

“I’ve been a soldier, yes.” Castiel’s face closes up.

“Which unit?” Steve asks, undeterred for now because for one, he’s genuinely curious, and for two, their neighbors haven’t shown any signs of recognizing them. And Steve would like to keep it that way.

“I can ask Dean whether we need you to bring anything,” the guy says tightly.

“Alright,” Steve nods. He knows better than to pressure when there’s obviously something off. No one comes out of war undamaged. “Let’s exchange phone numbers and you can call or text me with what we should bring.”

For a moment, that seems to catch the other guy off guard but then he nods and digs for his cell phone. Steve does the same. Of course the phone he’s carrying is not his private phone, it’s SHIELD tech and he’s got it just for this type of operations.

“You just let me know, man,” Steve nods amiably. “Don’t let me keep you from,” he waves vaguely, “this.”

The other guy sighs deeply. “Yeah. Well. I guess, it is time to go back inside anyway.”

He says it with such apprehension that Steve can’t help asking, “Everything okay between you two?” So far, they have seen their neighbors argue more often than not.

“It’s - complicated.”

“Yeah, man, I hear you,” Steve nods. “Buck and I, we’re also -,” he breaks off and starts anew. “War changes you. The things that happened to you, the things you had to do to others - Isn’t always easy to sort yourself out after.”

Judging by the sudden intense stare, that got the other guy’s interest. It takes a moment and an uncomfortable shrug from Steve for him to catch himself. “Apologies. But what you said - did you ever, umm, do anything - to each other?”

That is both unexpected and worrying. But Steve guesses that if this guy found his inhuman powers somewhere in the middle of a battle situation, that might have had unforeseen consequences. So he tries to shake off his discomfort about the personal topic and answers to the best of his abilities. “It’s been awhile since we served together on an actual battlefield.” Not a lie. It’s been 70 years. If you don’t count facing off against each other not all that long ago. “We’ve always tried to save each other’s ass when we had the choice.” No need to elaborate how very little choice Bucky had in the matter in the past few decades. “But shit happens.” He almost hears the words in Natasha’s voice, they sound so directly out of her mouth.

“Shit happens,” the other guy mumbles thoughtfully. “It sounds - simple, put like that.”

Not like the insurmountable hurdle that it is. Yeah, Steve knows how that goes. “We can’t do much more than take it one day at a time and hope for the best.”

He gives Castiel a commiserating shrug that gets answered in kind.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are burgers. And Bucky is a little shit.

**_Dean and Cas_ **

Cas finds Dean in the kitchen furiously cutting some tomatoes.

“What have the tomatoes done?” Cas asks and Dean turns around with a jolt, knife upwards and ready to attack. When he sees that it is Cas he relaxes immediately and lowers it. “Jesus Christ, Cas! Don’t sneak up on me!”

“I didn’t want to startle you,” Cas answers quickly, his gaze drawn to the knife in Dean’s hand.

It clatters onto the kitchen counter, Dean lets go of the knife so fast.

They both clear their throats awkwardly, thoughts apparently going to the same place, but neither of them wanting to admit it.

“I have no idea what Jesus Christ has to do with it,” is what Cas finally chooses to say.

That makes Dean huff and roll his eyes. “Figure of speech, Cas. We’ve talked about this. So, are you done with gardening?”

“Yes,” Cas answers and looks down at himself. There are clumps of dirt clinging to pretty much every part of him. He shrugs. “I needed some fresh air.”

“That.. that’s alright.” Dean hesitates. But he’s got to bring himself to ask at some point, even if he might not like the answer. “Cas... are you okay?”

“Steve wants to know if he should bring something for tonight,” Cas replies, effectively ignoring his question.

Dean’s eyebrows rise. “ _Steve_? You talked to our neighbor?”

“Yes, he even gave me his number.”

“He did what? Why did he…? Give me the number!” Dean stutters out.

“Why?” Cas asks with a squint, completely unfazed by Dean’s sudden rambling.

“Why?! Because I want Sam to check it, of course! We still have no lead on the Case and there’s something off about this guy. I don’t trust him.”

“Steve is a very nice guy,” Cas states matter-of-factly and Dean thinks he might choke.

“A nice guy? That’s what he wants you to believe, what with his perfect hair and perfect smile and perfect chin….” Dean trails off when his brain finally catches up to his mouth.

“I don’t see what his physical attractiveness has to do with him being nice or not.”

Dean groans. “Everything! It has everything to do with it! That guy is just too perfect to be real. Now give me the number.”

Cas relents, holding his phone out to Dean with the contacts open. Dean quickly types the number into his own phone and sends it to Sam.

_Dean: I think we got our first lead. Can you check this out? Track who owns the number etc. etc._

That should be enough for Sam to do a full background sweep. “Good. If there is something fishy, Sam will find it.”

“Dean, has anyone ever told you that you show signs of paranoia? Our neighbors are not automatically our enemy,” Cas says and shakes his head as if he can’t believe Dean.

It raises Dean’s hackles. “When did you become such an expert on people?”

“I watched humanity for centuries,” Cas huffs. “ And you haven’t even said more than two sentences to them yet. You have no grounds to base your opinion on.”

“Like you’ve had such in-depth conversations with them”, Dean bites back.

“I talked with Steve just now. He gave me new perspective. And his number. And I gave him mine.”

“That means noth… wait… you _did what_?”

“I gave him my number. I understand that it is customary to reciprocate.”

“You gave him your number? As in _your_ number? Not the number to one of the burners?”

“... uhhh.”

“Dammit, Cas! You _never ever_ give your real number to strangers! No matter how good looking or _nice_ they seem to be.”

“Oh,” Cas says quietly. “I forgot.”

It’s pretty high up in the list of ground rules, so Dean has no idea how on Earth Cas could forget that. “So, the first nice looking guy that comes along and you just give him your number?” And that sounded more professional and less like a jealous boyfriend in his head.

“He’s not the _first_ nice looking guy,” Cas pouts.

“Dammit, Cas, that’s so not the point,” Dean shouts, though judging by his own reaction it kind of is.

“What’s the point then, Dean?” Cas answers and suddenly his voice, even though still quiet is dangerous.

“The point is - the point is that you’re half-fallen. You’re almost human. You can get hurt, Cas!”

“I can take care of myself.”

“No, you can’t!” And oops, that was not actually what he had wanted to say.

Cas’ glare is menacing at best and Dean takes an involuntary step back.

“So you are saying that I’m useless,” Cas concludes and Dean thinks he might be in for a smiting if he doesn’t clear this up fast.

“No! No, I’m not saying that at all,” he says in a rush. “What I’m saying is, that you... that when you…,” he forces himself to get the words out, “You don’t have much experience with feelings. You let them get in the way of your better judgement and that’s dangerous.”

“I do what?” Cas asks and the anger seems to be partly replaced with puzzlement.

“You didn’t fight back, Cas. When I tried to kill you, you didn’t fight back,” Dean answers bluntly.

“Neither did you. In the crypt when I was under Naomi’s influence,” Cas shoots back.

“That was different. I knew you were still in there,” Dean argues.

“Well, so did I,” Cas says and looks bewildered, like he genuinely doesn’t understand.

“Yeah, I was in there alright, but - fuck,” Dean hits his hand against the kitchen counter with a loud smack before taking a deep breath. He can’t look at Cas while he explains this, so he stares at the heap of tomatoes instead. “The Mark’s no outside influence, Cas. It’s not Naomi ordering me to kill. The Mark only took what was already inside me.” He turns back to Cas after all, feeling utterly drained. “That murderer, that _was_ me.”

“Oh Dean,” Cas murmurs and inexplicably his voice has gone soft.

Dean huffs a little laugh. “That’s all you got to say to it?”

“No, as a matter of fact, it is not,” Cas shakes his head and comes close enough to put a hand on Dean’s arm. Dean lets him, too. “Shit happens, Dean.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Just that: Shit happens. What happens to us, doesn’t define who we are.”

“Fear you’re wrong on that one, Cas,” Dean mumbles.

“You didn’t kill me, Dean. You had the opportunity and you didn’t.”

“You’re still scared of me, though.”

Cas takes a deep breath. Then he shakes his head. “No, Dean. I’m scared of my own helplessness, not of you. I don’t want to lose you.”

“Don’t want to lose you, either,” Dean whispers and suddenly he’s got his hands fisted into Cas’ dirty shirt to cling on to him and then Cas draws him into a tight hug. It’s the kind of hug where you feel like you’re drowning and holding on is the only way you can get a tiny bit of air and maybe, just maybe survive long enough to come back to the surface.

Which they do, after a while. Cas is the one to let go first, but Dean is the one who clears his throat awkwardly.

“I still need to text Steve whether he should bring something,” Cas says after a moment.

Dean nods, because yeah, going to the mundane and letting the heavy topics rest for a bit sounds good. “He can bring some beer, I think we don’t have much left in the fridge.”

“That sounds doable,” Cas says. ”I will inform Steve.”

“Okay,” Dean nods and because he’s a masochist who leaves himself open to rejection, he adds, ”So, want to help me with the burgers maybe?”

Cas stays silent for a long moment before he shakes his head. “I should get changed and take a shower. I don’t want to make everything dirty.”

“Yes,” Dean sighs because of course there’s nothing he can say against this. He hopes he manages to keep his heart-break out of his voice when he adds, “That’s a good plan. Take your time. I’ll finish this up.”

 

***

**_Steve and Bucky_ **

“So, successful recon I gather?” Bucky says from where he’s still perched on the window sill. It sounds slightly accusatory. Coupled with the fact that Bucky’s loosely holding a gun in his metal hand, it makes Steve somewhat uncomfortable.

“That mine?” He asks and nods towards the weapon.

“Uhh, yeah, sorry about that,” Bucky says and in a swift gesture empties out the ammunition before immediately handing the gun over.

Steve takes it awkwardly. “You know, if it was up to me, I wouldn’t have a problem with it.”

“No, no, they’re probably right. It ain’t safe having me handle a gun,” Bucky answers, though his eyes don’t seem to want to meet Steve’s. “It’s just that - didn’t really seem like having your back, sitting here watching with no backup plan. If you got to report this, report it.”

Steve chuckles mirthlessly. “Pretty sure the house does all the reporting for me. Stark Tech was here for three days before we moved in.” He picks up his voice a little. “So, Tony, in case you’re listening to this, you’re a creep. Also, I’m handling this operation, so decisions in the field are mine to make. Which means that for the duration of this operation, Buck can take all safety measures he deems necessary. Firearms included.” He goes back to his normal voice. “It might become necessary, too. Castiel’s military of some type. I got that much out of him. He seems stable and non-threatening, but he’s got combat training and we’ve got to assume that his partner’s got training, too.”

“Castiel, huh?” Bucky answers and is back to sounding slightly off.

“Well, yeah?” Steve says, not comprehending.

“Not _the mark_ or _the target_ , no, good old Castiel. Getting attached already, Steve?” There’s a definite bite to the words now.

“I’m sorry if you think it’s unprofessional calling him by name. But he’s not a HYDRA agent, he’s our neighbor and we’re invited to dinner at their place, so it hardly seems appropriate to call him _target_.”

“No, can’t do that with someone who gave you his phone number,” Bucky says sarcastically.

Steve scrunches his eyebrows together puzzled. “He likes me, I think, and he’s beginning to trust me. He even opened up about his relationship problems. That’s a good thing, right?”

“He likes you,” Bucky echoes and sounds faintly sick. “And his relationship is failing. Great. Really great.”

“Bucky?” Steve asks worriedly.

“No, no, you’re right of course, it’s a good thing. Good recon. You should report to SHIELD that he’s military. Though they really should have known that before they sent us here. And told us about it.”

“Bucky?” Steve tries again because the deflection is not taking the edge out of Bucky’s voice.

“You can use that info to bond with him, of course, you have a shared background and everything now,” Buck rambles on. “Is my understanding at least. Not that I remember much about spy techniques. Or that HYDRA had much use for talking. So I’m probably not the best person to ask how to go about that.” He sounds slightly hysterical now.

“Bucky!” This time it’s not a question. This time Steve steps into Bucky’s personal space and makes his voice firm. It shuts Bucky up immediately. “What’s wrong?” Steve asks, voice much softer again. “And please don’t lie to me.”

It takes a moment but then Bucky softly answers, “Do you like him, too?”

“What?” Steve asks perplexed.

“He likes you. Do you like him, too?” Bucky repeats, eyes landing anywhere but on Steve.

“I like him well enough, he doesn’t seem to be a bad guy,” and then it catches up with Steve that that’s not actually what Bucky is asking. With a sigh, he lets himself sink down next to his friend, nudging his shoulder in the process because he needs some physical contact. But of course the gesture is too impersonal, too much like macho camaraderie, and he cringes at himself. “Thought it was supposed to be me who got too much into the role of the jealous boyfriend.”

Bucky says nothing for a long moment, then he shakes his head as if to deny an accusation. “It’s not... I don’t... Just be careful, Steve, okay? We know next to nothing about the guy.”

Steve nods. That’s a promise he can make. “I’ll be careful. And I’m glad that you still got my back,” he says honestly.

“With you till the end of the line,” Bucky says and attempts a crooked smile though it turns out more like a grimace.

“What did you say?” Steve asks, breathless because that can’t be coincidence.

“You said that to me, on the helicarrier,” Bucky answers.

“Who told you that?” Steve tries to remember whether he ever told Natasha this detail.

“No one,” Bucky replies, and Steve’s heart stops beating.

“You remember?” he asks, voice a whisper.

Bucky nods. “Yeah. It showed up among the HYDRA bits and pieces a few days ago.” He bites his lip. “When you said it, it felt - significant. Made me stop. But I couldn’t - I can’t remember why. Why is it significant, Steve?” His voice is small and Steve’s not sure his is going to be any better.

Indeed, he has to clear his throat before he can answer and even then his voice is hoarse. “You’ve said it to me before. And when you said it, you meant it. Every word of it. That was when we were young.” He leaves out that it had meant the world to him. Still does. Even if it’s another memory he will forever carry on his own.

“We haven’t been young in a very long time.”

“No,” Steve laughs dryly, “no, we haven’t.” He can’t help it, he reaches out the short span between them and squeezes Bucky’s hand. “I still mean it, though. You can count on me. Always.”

 

***

**_Dean and Cas_ **

Dean hums along to some song on the radio when Cas enters the kitchen.

“They will be here any minute,” Cas says, and Dean looks up at the clock and fuck, it really is that late already. At least the fries are almost ready but the patties need to go on the grill and the BBQ-sauce still needs attention and… this has to be perfect. He will show this Steve-dude what it means to get in the way of Dean Winchester, master chef.

“So do we know any monsters that make a habit out of being on time?” Dean asks and elicits an eye-roll and a sigh in Cas.

“I don’t think being on time makes someone a monster.”

“Ah, dammit, I should have made something that needs cutlery to eat. I mean, how the hell am I going to test their reaction to silver now?” Dean continues unperturbed.

“Do you really think our neighbors have something to do with the disappearances?” Cas finally asks and for the first time he sounds as if he’s actually considering the option.

Dean looks up at him. “Seriously, Cas? How often have I told you already that there is something fishy about them? So, hell, yeah, I think there’s something off. As to whether the disappearances are their fault,” he shrugs. “But we’ll figure it out. In that spirit, do you think they’d notice if I put Holy Water into their beer?” He hesitates. “How much can you dilute Holy Water before you don’t get a reaction anymore?”

“Dean, I appreciate your caution but I think we should consider other options for this case, too,” Cas says carefully.

Dean nods. “Of course. But those other options won’t show up tonight. Our neighbors will. So we should focus on the things that we can find out. The fries have plenty of salt, so we’ll at least see if they are ghosts. That’s something, isn’t it?”

“Dean, they’re not…” And then the doorbell rings.

Dean doesn’t know why he is so focused on their neighbors and why it is so important for him to mark them as evil, but he just feels it in his gut. And if Cas doesn’t want to see it, Dean has to show him.

“I will go and welcome them,” Cas says and he actually sounds excited about it.

Dean kind of doesn’t want him to go to the door alone, but one look at the mess that is their kitchen, and he nods. “I’ll hurry. Dinner will be ready soon.”

Cas makes as if to go, but then turns around again before he actually leaves the kitchen. “And Dean?”

“Huh?”

“Please try to behave.”

Dean grimaces and because he can’t well start a fight with his ‘husband’ right now, he answers in a sickly-sweet tone. “If it’s that important for you, honey...”

Cas glares at him and one of these days the smiting is going to happen, but then the doorbell rings again and Cas turns around and shouts, “Coming!”

 

Dean takes a deep breath when he hears the voices from the front door. He’s so not ready for this. Steve will outshine him because so far he’s done that every time they’ve met. And Dean will have to watch Cas smile at Steve and be excited about having him over for company, in a way he’s never excited about being in Dean’s company. And yeah, Steve’s most likely evil, but there’s the off chance that he isn’t, and even if he is, Cas will still have figured out that the Winchesters aren’t the only humans on the planet that he can latch onto, and oh God, the voices are coming closer.

He snatches the plate with the burger patties and makes a run for it.

He hears the tail end of Cas’ welcome, “And here’s - oh, he’s not here. I’m sorry, I swear he was here a second ago.”

“He probably just went out to the grill,” Steve answers pleasantly and Dean kind of wants to punch him through the wall. But then they’d never get their security deposit back.

“Yes, that must be it,” Cas replies. “Let’s put the beer into the fridge. Is this a good brand? I’m not very firm in the local breweries…”

And that is Cas - making small talk. Dean’s mouth hangs open but he shakes himself out of it and retreats further from the door towards the grill. It muffles the voices inside and he can’t understand what everyone’s saying anymore, but it’s only a matter of time before they’ll come looking for him and he doesn’t want to be caught listening.

 

Instead, he figures that he should concentrate on the task on hand and grill the burgers. The sooner this is done, the sooner he can go back in and observe Steve.

The beef is on the grill in minutes (hooray for their brand-new, well, found at a garage sale, Weber gas grill), but somehow it still feels like an eternity. Nothing goes fast enough and Dean really should have chosen a dinner that didn’t keep him away from Cas. But his burgers are his signature dish and it does not matter how good of a chef Steve might be, Dean knows with absolute certainty that he can outshine him in this one area. There simply are no burgers better than Dean’s. Which is why he forces himself to take his time, to be extra careful and make sure the patties are neither raw nor burned into charcoal. It’s a pain in the ass but Dean won’t screw up his burgers just because he can’t stand the thought of Cas in the house alone with them.

“Want some beer?”

Dean almost jumps out of his skin and he is glad that he is used to this from Cas because otherwise he might have punched the guy. He looks at - James? Bucky? - who looks right back at him, completely unafraid about staring it seems.

“Nah, I am good,” Dean stutters. He doesn’t feel comfortable with anyone out here, and wait, if Bucky is here, then Steve and Cas are inside on their own, and no, that’s not okay. That’s very not okay. He might need that beer after all.

Bucky finally breaks the eye contact and holds out one of the bottles. “It’s El Sol. I got no idea about the differences but Steve’s a _connoisseur of the finer arts_ and he says it’s good,” Bucky shrugs. He’s leaning against the wall, whole body one relaxed long line, but he’s holding out the beer with his metal arm and there’s a challenge gleaming in his eyes.

“El Sol? Why didn’t you said that right away,” Dean takes the challenge and takes the beer.

Bucky nods, smile turning a bit wider. “So how’s civilian life going for you?”

“Civilian life?” Dean asks with raised eyebrows.

“Thought you served. Is what your boyfriend said anyway.”

Some of that El Sol promptly makes its way down the wrong pipe at the word _boyfriend_ , and embarrassingly, Bucky comes over to pat him on the back until the coughing has subsided.

“Sorry,” Dean wheezes. “Still, not used to that.”

He notices his mistake when Bucky raises his eyebrow in question.

So instead of digging himself in deeper he says, “It’s been a while. And it wasn’t - regular army or whatever. Not like you guys.”

“M-hm,” Bucky shrugs noncommittally.

“You probably were pretty glad when Obama nixed _Don’t Ask Don’t Tell_ , huh?” Dean asks and checks on the burger patties just to hide the blush that the topic brings.

“Uhh,” Bucky sounds slightly lost, “you got to ask Steve about that. He’s better with the army regulations. I mean, he’s the officer and everything. He had to learn that shit.”

“So you’re a grunt?” And yeah, maybe Dean is ignoring that it’s weird that Bucky doesn’t seem to know about that regulation in order to be able to be rude to him on purpose.

But Bucky just makes a weird noise and says, “Yeah, I guess you could say that. What about you? Your man or you the one who gives the orders?”

“Him,” Dean answers without having to think about it, because half-fallen or not, Cas is still a frikking angel warrior, but then he sees Bucky’s smirk and the realization that, oh, Bucky is fucking with him, dawns. Dean knows he’s turning beet-red but even being angry at himself for running into that trap doesn’t make the rush of blood to his face abate. “Not - not like that, we’re not like that,” he stammers out, which in turn makes Bucky’s smirk only wider.

Without breaking eye contact with Dean, Bucky takes a sip of his beer, or no, that’s not the right way to describe what he’s doing, because he’s wrapping his lips around the beer bottle in a way that is definitely more explicit than it needs to be and then he’s darting his tongue out to lick up a few drops that have spilled over, and all of that while never once taking his eyes off Dean. Dean’s going to die of cardiac arrest right here and now, and then he’ll never get to save Cas from whatever these two are - and that thought is at least enough to bring some of his brain back online.

Judging by Bucky’s chuckle, the effect of his little show was not lost on him. “You should probably check on those burgers,” he says and casually gestures with his beer towards the burgers.

Oh fuck, there is more smoke coming from the grill then there should be.

Which is how they end up with slightly burned burgers. It’s not too bad, the burgers still taste fine, but they are not perfect and Dean can’t help his scowl, even when Steve praises his burgers and asks for the recipe.

Bucky just smirks some more and it pisses Dean off, because fuck, his mind is going back to that beer bottle and to how Bucky’s lips had looked wrapped around it, and maybe it’s not Bucky’s lips that he wants to see wrapped around anything but the image itself has no goddamn right to be as hot as it is. “Incubus,” he mutters under his breath because he’s Dean Winchester and Dean Winchester is a professional and while no monster has the right to make him lose his cool like this, there’s definitely no human who should be able to do that.

He makes a mental note to ask Sam how the hell he can find that out for certain.

 

***

**_Steve and Bucky_ **

Dinner goes surprisingly well, all things considered. Castiel - Cas, is easy enough to be around. Probably because they are both awkward as hell in the company of strangers, so they’re naturally drifting towards dorky topics like gardens and bees and the coloring of different flowers that Steve guesses Bucky and Dean would never be caught dead talking about, but that Steve finds interesting enough, if only because he’s now got the chance to paint nature scenes for the sake of the nature instead of because that’s where he’s hunkered down during a war.

Bucky and Dean worry him, though, even though nothing is outwardly wrong. But Dean seems to be seething with a quiet kind of anger and he’s throwing Bucky dark looks that make Steve wonder what happened between the two of them when they were outside.

Bucky seems relaxed and ignores the way Dean is glaring daggers at him, but it’s the kind of relaxed that Steve has seen on Natasha and Clint. It’s a relaxed that couldn’t be farther away from letting down your guard.

“So, did you two meet in the military?” Steve finally asks in an effort to include Dean in their conversation.

Their hosts share a look with each other, then Dean shrugs, “He saved my ass, that’s how we met.”

“I pulled him out of Hell,” Cas volunteers.

Dean almost chokes on his beer and coughs violently.

“Oh wow, that’s - wow. Yeah, war is hell,” Steve isn’t really sure how to react to this, either.

“It was quite difficult,” Cas states. “Dean’s got a knack for being difficult sometimes.”

They exchange a glare that Steve can’t really decipher. There’s tension there, yeah, buckloads of it, but it doesn’t necessarily look like a _failing_ relationship to Steve. More like - foreplay.

He clears his throat uncomfortably, “Yeah, I guess all have our moments that we’re not proud of.”

“What about you?” Dean asks and breaks the eye contact with his partner abruptly, “How did you meet?”

“Oh, that - that was a long time ago,” Steve answers and the tension will not bleed out of his shoulders. Not with the way Bucky goes from smirking to intense in a heartbeat. His eyes are glued to Steve. God, it just doesn’t stop hurting. But with six eyes on him instead of two, and with being able to tell the story as if it’s still theirs, he thinks he can deal. Better than normal, anyway.

“Buck saved my ass, too, actually. Though it wasn’t in the service. I was 12,” Steve laughs softly, “and picking fights I couldn’t win. Buck was a whole year older and a whole lot stronger. He kicked the bullies’ asses.” He smiles at Bucky, “Still can’t figure out why he stuck around and became my friend. Always seemed to me that I must have been more trouble than I was worth.”

Bucky huffs, a noise of disagreement that everyone else probably takes for normal, only Steve knows that Bucky doesn’t actually remember any of this. And it’s nice of him to disagree on principle, but, “I was a sickly child. My, uhh, final growth spurt didn’t happen until later. So I weighed something like 90 pounds wet, and I still couldn’t stop myself from getting into fights. When my asthma didn’t keep me inside, that is. I have no idea what you saw in me, Buck.”

He smiles at Bucky, who surprises him by actually speaking up, “See, the thing is, Steve, I got no idea what you see in me, either. I mean, look at me,” he flexes his metal arm, making sure Steve knows he’s talking about his damage, “and you’re not exactly tiny and weak anymore. You don’t need me to defend you.”

Steve’s pretty sure his smile turns out shakier than he wants it to be, but he’s determined when he shakes his head. “Even when I had nothing, I had you. If you think a metal arm and what comes with that is gonna change what I feel for you, you’re wrong.”

There’s a moment of silence, no one sure how to follow this up. Bucky himself stares at Steve like he can’t believe a word he’s just heard.

“So, umm, you two’ve been together since you were 12 then?” Dean finally breaks the tension.

Steve chuckles, though it’s not a happy sound. “No. No, it’s not quite as simple. You have to understand that we grew up in a very conservative - area.” Era is what he wants to say but he’s reasonably sure that that is not the appropriate word for the current company. It’s impossible enough for him to wrap his head around the fact that he met Bucky something like 85 years ago.

“Oh, that must have been hard?” Castiel makes it a question.

“You have no idea,” Steve grimaces. “They beat me up for being a fairy before I even knew I was one.” He sees the motion out of the corner of his eyes and sure enough there is the tell-tale swish of Bucky’s metal hand forming a fist. “Hey, Buck,” he immediately addresses that, “it was a long time ago. I’m good now. You can stand down.” He’s learned it the hard way that any perceived threats to Steve’s safety activate the Winter Soldier real fast.

“Sorry,” Bucky grinds out and Steve can see how much effort it costs him to relax his hand.

“It’s fine, Buck,” Steve reassures him before turning back to their hosts. “It hasn’t been that long for us, sometimes there’s still -,” shell-shock is what he wants to say but that’s not the right word anymore, “post-traumatic stress. We get a little over-protective of each other.”

Though Steve’s less unpredictable in his response. He predictably argues with, then yells at and finally punches anyone who tries to keep him away from Bucky. That is one thing that Tony’s had to learn the hard way. And he had needed a few repetitions before he’d gotten it. “I lost him before. I’m not doing it again.” He holds Bucky’s gaze for that, makes sure he sees the truth of that statement, all too aware that Bucky can’t know what part of their story as he’s telling it right now is told for the benefit of their audience and what part is true.

“I feel you, man,” Dean nods and it might be the first time that Dean has agreed with anything that Steve’s said. The reason isn’t hard to make out, though. Dean’s eyes are on his boyfriend and there is something so soft, so vulnerable in his expression that even the gruff tone of his words can’t mask the pain.

“You’ve lost each other before, too,” Steve states, more out of habit than because it’s still a question.

“Thought I’d seen him die,” Dean says and sounds spooked, like he’s seeing the scene in front of him right now. “You walked into the water and -,” then he catches himself and shakes himself out of the memory. “I couldn’t get to him,” he goes on, tone much more neutral. “Fuck, that was a fucked up few months before I found him again.”

Steve exchanges a glance with Bucky. _A few months._ That’s horrible, undeniably, but try out a few decades. And then amnesia when you’ve finally found each other again.

“I’m glad it turned out alright for you guys,” Bucky says and his voice is soft and sad, very different from how it was the rest of the night.

Steve thinks he knows where Bucky’s thoughts are going. It’s written in every line of his face that he wishes that things could have turned out alright for them, too. That they wouldn’t hurt quite so much. Steve’s not all that good at keeping the pain out of his voice when the memories choke him after all.

So Steve stretches so that he can put a hand on Bucky’s knee. “Hey,” he says quietly. “Don’t. Till the end of the line, remember?”

There’s a long moment where nothing happens. Then Bucky nods and wraps his hand around Steve’s. The real one, which is warm and holds on tight. Before Steve has a chance to get used to the feeling, Bucky leans in, quickly, and presses a soft kiss on Steve’s cheek.

It shouldn’t set his heart racing. It really shouldn’t. It also shouldn’t set off an automatic reaction of wrapping his hand around Bucky’s neck, drawing him close until their foreheads rest together. Until they are breathing in each other’s breaths. It shouldn’t push tears into his eyes and it shouldn’t make the I love you that he wants to say every day, no, every minute of every day so painful in his chest that it’s almost unbearable.

It should do none of these things, and yet it does all of them.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Progress.

**_Dean and Cas_ **

Dean doesn’t know if he wants to punch something or if he wants to run away and hide in the kitchen because his neighbors have what he can never have. They’ve worked it out, they’ve managed it. Somehow they’ve worked through all of their issues, because Dean senses there are issues for them, too, but they are together now, holding onto each other so hard that they’re completely oblivious to the world around them. Dean wishes it could be like that for Cas and him. But it can’t and Dean wants to punch a wall and scream and tell them to stop.

Cas saves him before he can do anything in that direction.

“You really love each other,” Cas’ voice is soft and Dean looks over to him. There is a small smile on his face and Dean’s heart aches.

It takes a moment, but then Steve draws back from Bucky, though he does it slowly, as if it’s against his will, and he keeps holding Bucky’s hand. “I guess we’re obvious, huh?” he says and there’s a blush spreading from his neck to the tips of his ears.

Dean nods because it really is obvious, Bucky’s attempt at riling him earlier notwithstanding. Because all of that snark, all of that attitude, it drops away when Bucky looks at Steve. And yeah, Dean sneaks a glance over to Cas, he knows how that happens.

Cas lifts his head and looks right back at him. “Love is nothing to be ashamed of,” Cas says.

A shudder goes through Dean’s body. “No,” Dean says, too afraid to look away even though he’s also afraid to hold Cas’ gaze and have him see. His voice sounds hoarse when he adds, “No, it is not.”

He gathers his courage and lays his hand on Cas’, because right now he is allowed to. Right now, he is a loving husband and he wants to show their freaking neighbors that they are as much in love as them. Even when it is a lie. Because being _in love_ suggests rose colors and flying hearts and kittens and puppies, and for Dean, love is complicated. It is intertwined with loss and regret. Oh yes, he loves Cas. With all of his heart. But it can’t be more than this, a small safe moment when it for once isn’t dangerous. Where he can allow love to be simple, to be in this small gesture, in the touch of hands, in the warmth of each other’s skin.

“Love wins,” Steve says warmly, and finally Dean averts his eyes from Cas to look at Steve, though he leaves his hand on Cas’. “I mean, being accepted for who we are… that was not something we always had. It still feels very new,” Steve continues.

Dean huffs, because he knows how long it took him to accept any of the things he felt. It was quite a long journey. Actually, if he’s honest, it’s a journey that’s still going on.

“Don’t ask, don’t tell?” Bucky asks, and Steve’s attention goes back to his boyfriend.

His smile is crooked and somewhat sad. “Was already better than the blue slips. And that was better than being court-martialed. I’m glad that no one has to hide anymore, now. Legally, anyway,” Steve sighs. “What people do because of prejudices is a whole different matter.”

“No one wants to lose their families if they still have them,” Bucky says and there is something dark in his eyes that speaks of loss.

The talk has taken a turn for the decidedly depressing.

“Sam unconditionally supports us,” Cas pipes up.

“Well, Sam’s a nerd,” Dean grumbles, even though the one doesn’t necessarily have to do with the other.

It gets him a predictable frown from Cas.

“Yeah, yeah, you like him now, I remember. The times where you wouldn’t answers his calls are over.”

“Well, he’s not drinking dem-”

“Cas!” Dean stops him just in time. “We don’t talk about family matters with strangers, remember? No offense,” he adds towards Steve and Bucky.

“Hey,” Steve holds his hands up in an appeasing gesture. “It’s all good. We are still strangers to each other. Though I must say that the evening has done a lot to change that. Would you allow us to reciprocate and come by our place later this week?”

Dean’s not so sure about going into the lion’s den, but Cas seems to have none of his scruples because he smiles at Steve and says, “We’d very much enjoy that, yes. You are very pleasant company.”

And even with Cas’ hand still in his, Dean can hardly stop his growl. Judging by the way Bucky suddenly wraps his metal arm around Steve’s waist, he isn’t all too happy about it, either. The gesture screams _that’s mine_ and Dean’s totally okay with that. At least someone here remembers whose boyfriend is whose.

Steve laughs, apparently noticing both gestures, “We both seem to have overprotective husbands, huh?”

There’s a calculating gleam in Cas’ eyes when he looks over to Dean, and Dean twitches uncomfortably, trying to free his hand from Cas’, because being possessive was never part of the deal. But Cas still has angel strength left in him and he doesn’t let go, so Dean might as well be caught in a vise.

“It seems so. Might have to show them that they have nothing to fear.” With that, Cas leans forward and places a small quick kiss on Dean’s lips.

The touch is gone so fast, that it doesn’t even have time to register, but it is enough to leave Dean dazed. What the fuck did just happen?

 

***

**_Steve and Bucky_ **

Steve’s carrying the stack of empty glasses and Bucky’s carrying the tray. This way they don’t have to balance anything and they don’t have to let go of each other, either. Until they get to their porch that is, where Steve wants to free himself from Bucky’s hold to dig for his keys.

“Steve?” Bucky holds him back. “Can we sit outside for a bit?”

“Of course.” The wish is simple enough.

They stack their kitchenware in front of the door and sit down on the porch steps.

“Should have gotten a bench or two rockers,” Steve muses.

“It’s fine,” Bucky says and leans closer until he is resting against Steve’s shoulder.

There isn’t much else that Steve can do but wrap his arm around Bucky’s back and hold him steady.

“How much did you drink?” he asks.

Bucky laughs, a short and slightly bitter thing. “Not enough to lower my inhibitions, don’t worry.”

“Buck,” Steve admonishes, even though, in a way that was what he had been asking. They have enough issues between them without adding alcohol to the mix. Though he isn’t even sure whether Bucky can get any more drunk than Steve.

“You say you trust me, Steve. But do you really? Cause sometimes it don’t seem that way.” There is accusation in his tone.

“Of course I trust you,” Steve answers.

“Why didn’t you tell me then? What you told them? About being a fairy? Assuming that was the truth.”

Steve wants to draw away, untangle himself from Bucky’s touch, but Bucky places one hand on his knee and grabs the arm that Steve has wrapped around him with the other, effectively holding him in place.

Steve’s reasonably sure he could free himself if he really wanted to. The serum is more stable in him. Also, he’s pretty sure that if he meant it, Bucky wouldn’t put up a fight. But Steve’s easy to see through. Just ask Natasha. You can read him like an open book. And he’s never wanted to pull away from Bucky. He doesn’t really want to right now, either.

“Yes, that was the truth,” he sighs. “Though technically, the term is _bisexual_ these days. The other term is offensive. As for why I didn’t tell you...” Because it wasn’t important? Because it never came up? Because I assumed you knew? “Because I was a coward. And because I didn’t -”, he turns his head away, looks into the night instead of at Bucky, “I didn’t want you to feel uncomfortable around me.”

Bucky snorts, a sound that fits much better with the boy he had known in Brooklyn than with the Winter Soldier. “You’re an idiot, Steve.”

That makes him look back at Bucky after all. “I am?”

“Yes,” Bucky confirms. “You’re an idiot. With all due respect of course.”

“So you’re okay with this?” he asks to make sure.

In response, Bucky squeezes Steve’s hand where he’s still holding it.

“Okay,” Steve sighs a relieved sigh. “Okay. Thanks, Bucky.”

“What are you thanking me for?” Bucky asks with raised eyebrows, apparently actually confused.

“For, you know, being accepting.”

Bucky shakes his head, like he can’t believe what he’s hearing. “I know I ain’t quite right, Steve,” he says and his grip goes tighter as his voice gets harder, “I know you keep looking for someone who ain’t there. Who woulda react differently from me to lots of stuff. But you ain’t the kid with the newspapers in his shoes anymore, either. And just cause my brain doesn’t work so well, doesn’t mean I don’t know my heart or that I don’t know whether...” He trails off when he notices that Steve’s gone rigid.

Steve clears his throat and asks with a dry mouth, “Can you, can you repeat that, please?”

It takes a moment, a long moment in which Bucky goes over what he’s just said to figure out what Steve wants him to repeat. Then he gets it and his own eyes go wide. “Your mother’s name was Sarah. You used to wear newspapers in your shoes.”

Steve lets out the breath he had been holding.

That’s a memory.

That’s a memory where no one, not even Banner, believed they could really come back. He’s so happy about it that he leans in, aiming for a hug or maybe another kiss on the cheek, a celebration of a good moment, of the new happy memory of finding an old memory, but Bucky turns his head and leans in, and then they’re kissing.

Bucky’s lips are softer than Steve imagined, less chapped. He tastes of beer and of burger but also just like Bucky. And he kisses with the abandon of a man who’s dying, his hand coming up around Steve’s neck, holding him in place, his movements fast and hard.

“Shh, shh, Buck, Bucky,” Steve frees himself enough to take a few deep breaths. “Slow, Bucky, go slow.”

They try again, with less desperation, slower and softer. This time, it’s easy to fall into it. To let the kiss develop and take on a life of its own. Steve’s hand comes up, too, cupping Bucky’s face, tracing the outlines of his jaw, working open his ponytail until he can comb freely through his hair. God, it’s been so long.

“I know my heart,” Bucky repeats when they finally break apart. “You don’t get to tell me I don’t.”

“Okay,” Steve says because he’s still reeling and right this second he’s got no words to argue anything.

“Okay,” Bucky confirms and leans back in until his head is resting on Steve’s chest.

 

***

**_Dean and Cas_ **

They take care of the dishes silently, Dean scrubbing the plates harder than necessary and Cas drying them without comment. Dinner went by quite nicely in retrospect, but Dean could have done so much more research than he did. For some reason, he was too busy freaking out internally while he tried very hard not to show it. Even now his mantra is ‘We are just acting, we pretend to be husbands, that’s why we kissed, it was just for show, it meant nothing.’ He thinks he managed to keep up the facade, though he can’t remember one thing that was said after _that_ happened.

Cas working so closely by his side doesn’t make it easier. It’s when Cas accidentally brushes against him when he puts a plate away that Dean finally breaks. “It was for show, wasn’t it?”

Cas halts, plate still in his hand, tilting his head like he does so often when something puzzles him. “What?”

Dean bites his lips because Cas has to know what he is referring to. “You know.”

“No, Dean, I don’t,” Cas says confused as he puts the plate down on the counter next to him and steps forward right into Dean’s personal space. It’s as if Dean never talked to him about that.

Dean runs a hand through his hair before he says, “The kiss.”

“The kiss?”

“Yes, the kiss! It was for show, wasn’t it?” Dean asks again, covering up his anxiety with exasperation as best as he can.

“Why is that so important to you?” Cas grumbles.

Dean huffs, “Why... Cas!.. You kissed me! Out of nowhere!”

“You took my hand!”

“That has nothing to do with it!” Dean shouts.

“Of course it has everything to do with it!” Cas shouts back.

“A kiss is not the same as taking someone's hand! We need to do something to make them believe we’re a couple! Hand holding is fine, but kissing - kissing is _personal_!”

“For God’s sake, Dean, _I like you_ , okay? Deal with it!” Cas yells and turns back to the dishes.

“What?” Dean asks dumbfounded, steam taken out of him.

“You heard me,” Cas repeats, suddenly sounding more tired than angry.

“You like me?” Dean repeats because it’s still not processing.

“Yes, Dean. Yes, I do. I thought that was obvious.”

Suddenly, Dean’s knees are weak. Cause he’s expected a lot but not that. He didn’t even think - do angels fall in love? But then, how much angel is Cas really these days? He’s more human than anything. And that’s because of Dean. So what happens if they - do this? Not just as a cover for a case. What if they give it a real shot? Does it mean that Cas will fall the rest of the way? Cut off from the heavenly host forever?

Dean allows his knees to give out under him and lets himself sink to the kitchen tiles because the weight of that is just too much.

“Dean? Dean, are you alright? Dean, look at me!” Cas is suddenly kneeling next to him, his hand cupping Dean’s face, making him look at him.

Not that Dean has much power to resist Cas in the first place.

Still, he tries to hide it from his expression at least. Tries to hide his confusion and his sadness and the pull that the words _I like you_ make him feel. “Cas, you can’t just say shit like that.”

“Why not?” Cas asks, squinting, all puzzled bird again.

“Because it makes me assume.”

“Assume what?”

“That you mean it. And you can’t mean it.” ‘Because then you would fall completely and I can’t let that happen.’ But he doesn’t say that out loud because Cas is a stubborn son of a bitch. Well, son of God, actually, but the point stands.

Cas huffs. “I mean what I say. I always mean it.”

_Everyone you know, everyone you love, they could be long dead. Everyone except me. I'm the one who'll have to watch you murder the world._

“Yeah,” Dean whispers weakly, “yeah, I know that.”

 

***

**_Steve and Bucky_ **

The next morning, the space beside him isn’t empty as usual. Steve stretches, his joints creaking after the night on the hardwoods. “How long have you been up?” he asks.

Bucky’s got his knees drawn up in front of him, arms wrapped around himself and he’s staring out into their garden through the open back door. It would be nicer, sleeping out on the grass, but they’d probably never get the stains out of the covers and their neighbors think them weird enough as is. They don’t need to know that Steve and Bucky start out their nights in warm beds, in separate bedrooms, only to drift to the living-room floor an hour or two later when neither of them can fall asleep on the all too soft mattresses.

“Been awake a while,” Bucky answers.

“Can you sleep at all?” Steve asks because he isn’t sure. It seems to him that Bucky’s breathing becomes deep and regular once they’re settled in together, their blankets wrapped tightly around them, though the downy duvets never quite want to let themselves be rolled up as tightly as army regulation blankets would.

“Yeah,” Bucky nods. “It’s just that I get dreams in the morning. And I never know whether they’re really dreams or whether they’re memories.” He shrugs, “Keeps me thinking, and then I can’t fall back asleep.”

“Anything I can help you with?” Steve asks.

Another shrug. “Mostly it’s HYDRA shit. You’ve read my file. No need to put you through that again.”

“Does that mean _you_ read your file?” Steve asks. Because Steve has certainly never told Bucky his reaction to reading the file but knowing what’s in it, it’s not hard to draw the conclusion that it would leave Steve shaking.

“Nat sneaked it for me.”

Of course. Who else.

“Stop with the frown, Steve. I’da have asked you but I didn’t want to put it on your conscience. I know that you follow the rules.”

“That’s not what I - I would do a whole lot more for you than steal a file, Buck. It’s just that - you shouldn’t have had to go through that alone.” Because if it made Steve alternately nauseous and wanting to punch the world into oblivion before gathering Bucky in his arms and never letting go of him again, how much worse must it have been for Bucky?

“I went through the real thing on my own. Pretty sure reading about it won’t break me any more than I’m already broken.”

“Buck,” Steve says and immediately cringes at the pain showing in his voice. He knows Bucky doesn’t want his pity, but it’s hard while seeing the images from the file in his mind. Getting visual confirmation of how HYDRA had literally broken Bucky, it’s haunting Steve every day.

“Nah, Steve, I know you want to, but you can’t protect me from this. I needed to know. Need to at least get an idea of the shit I did. And the shit I have to expect from different people. They ain’t all Natasha.”

 _Bye bye bikinis_ , Steve hears Nat’s laconic voice when she showed him her scar. “Did you read about that, too?”

Bucky shakes his head. “She told me.” He snorts. “I think she was mostly impressed. Somewhat annoyed that I marred her record by killing the guy. But not actually angry that I shot her in the process.”

“Yeah,” Steve nods. “She is like that.”

They smile at each other for a moment, because Nat is Nat and she’s badass and a badass friend to have.

Then Bucky’s face falls and he turns away from Steve. “You know, with her… She’s done so much shit, too. Makes it easy to talk to her. She gets it. With you…”

“None of it was your fault, Buck. I’m not judging you for it.”

Bucky shakes his head to stop Steve. “Doesn’t matter. Was still me who did those things. Don’t pretend like it makes no difference that I did them. Cause it does. You’re better than me or her. You’ve always gone straight. Feels like just being near you I’m dragging you down with me.”

“Buck…” Steve’s got no words to express how wrong that is. How much Bucky adds to his life. How he can’t stand the thought of ever being without him again.

“Nat’s stronger than me. She’d just decide to let you go and then she’d let you go.”

“Please don’t. Please don’t ever do that,” Steve pleads.

“Yeah, as I said, I ain’t that strong,” Bucky sighs. “Can I come on your morning run?”

It’s jarring, the abrupt change of topic, but Steve tries to take it in stride. “If you’re up for it, sure.”

“I’m not going to lag behind. No worries, old man.”

“Hey, technically you’re older.”

“Yeah, technically you’re the _punk_. But we all know that that’s me.”

Steve rolls his eyes, heavy topic not laid to rest, but accepting the turn into something lighter. “The term’s _twink_ now, and at 90-something neither of us qualifies.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phone calls and visits. Oh, and ar-woof!

**_Dean and Cas_ **

“Hey Sammy, please tell me you got something,” Dean huffs. The night on the couch was no better than the last and the thing with Cas is bugging him, too. So all he wants to have is something on the case to work on so that he can bury himself in that and forget, because honestly, whiskey alone doesn’t cut it right now.

“Sorry, Dean, I have nothing new on the missing persons, but I’ve got something else. I checked up that phone number you gave me. That was kind of strange.”

Dean pounces on that, “I knew it!”

“You knew that the phone number isn’t registered to Steve and that it leads to another phone number?” Sam asks surprised.

Dean frowns in confusion, “No? It does?”

Sam sighs exasperatedly. “Well, anyway, I couldn’t really pinpoint whose number it is even after it came out that any call gets shared with that second account, so I thought, what the hell, I’ll just call them and then we’ll see.”

“So, they’re well organized monsters, okay, now get to the point and tell me what you’ve found out,” Dean sighs impatiently. He wants this case to be over with and to be back at the bunker and pretend that nothing that happened the past two days ever _actually_ happened.

“As I said, very strange. The woman who picked up the phone seemed very confused as to where I got the number,” Sam explains.

“What did you tell her?”

“That I’m FBI, what else?”

“Okay”, Dean nods. At least someone who doesn’t forget all the ground rules as soon as Dean isn’t supervising.

“Apparently the number belongs to a telemarketing company. The lady immediately started to try selling me shit. Took a while to get rid of her,” Sam elaborates.

That indeed makes no sense at all. Why would Steve’s phone number be connected to telemarketing? And why is it even connected to anything else at all? Joe Normal’s phone number doesn’t do that. But then, Dean’s got good gut instincts, and his gut instinct told him from the beginning that Steve and James - Bucky - aren’t what they pretend to be. “So you’re saying she knew nothing?”

“No, I’m saying I didn’t get anything out of her.”

“So you don’t believe the telemarketing thing, either?” Because Dean definitely doesn’t believe it.

“Not really. I’m still trying to find out more about the company but as far as I saw their address and internet presence seem legit,” Sam says tiredly.

“We both know how easily that can be faked. Ain’t like we haven’t done something like that before.”

“You don’t have to tell me,” Dean can practically hear Sam’s eye-roll and he is about to tell him what he thinks about this when he hears it. It’s a small sound but distinct, even though it’s a little bit muffled.

“Arrrr-woof.”

“Wait, what was that?” he asks.

“What was what?” Sam asks and his voice sounds suspiciously innocent.

Dean knows that voice too well, so he presses further, "Sam? Was that a bark in the background?"

"No?" But right when Sam says that Dean hears it again.

“Arrr-woof! Woof woof woof!” That is definitely a bark.

"There! I heard it again... Sam, do you have a dog in the bunker!!?" Dean asks angrily, because honestly Sam can’t have done that.

“What, why, no! Stop it, Simpson, leave the grimoire alone! That’s not a chew toy!”

“Sam! Please tell me you didn’t!” Dean groans. He’s been away from the bunker for what? Two days?

“Dean, I think you should focus on the case at hand. Can you tell me anything new?” Sam deflects but Dean can’t stop seeing images of his favorite slippers being all chewed up, especially not since judging by the noises Sam is still fighting to get that grimoire back.

“Nice try, Sam, but honestly, when did you get yourself a dog? And why the hell did you think that was a good idea?” And why didn’t you ask me? Why did you go ahead and go behind my back like you’re still 10 and I’m the big brother who has to be the bad guy and take the toy away again before Dad finds it?

“Dean..,” Sam pleads, and yeah, he really really really wanted that new toy.

“So what was the name again?” Dean asks.

“Simpson,” Sam says with a small voice.

“Like Homer or OJ?” Either a radioactive or a homicidal puppy, great.

“What? No! Like Alan K. Simpson.”

“Like whadda who now?”

“Alan K. Simpson? Famous lawyer and one of the few Republicans who are pro-choice and pro-gay rights?”

“You’re such a nerd,” Dean groans.

“Well, it was that or Lincoln.”

“Oh great.” There is nothing much else to say to this. “Alright. I’ll ignore this for now. But this isn’t over, Sam. We’ll talk about it again.”

“Thank you, Dean. You’ll like him, you’ll see.”

“Right,” Dean replies sarcastically. “Anyway, the case. What do we know about Incubi?”

“You think your neighbors are Incubi? Did you have any wet dreams lately?” Sam chuckles.

Dean wants to punch him through the phone, but then, the way the image of Bucky’s lips around that beer bottle haunts him was what brought this idea up in the first place. “Sam! Could you at least try to concentrate, please?”

But there’s no stopping Sam when he’s on a roll. “Are you sure it’s not a Siren, though? I mean the last Siren that went after you was male, too.”

“Yes, Sam, I get your point. Can you please _shut up_ now?” Dean growls.

“What? I thought you wanted help,” Sam says innocently.

Dean takes a deep breath and gets out through gritted teeth, “Fine. I’ll figure it out without you then.”

“Oh, come on, Dean, don’t be like that. Also, I am pretty sure that if one of your neighbors was an Incubus or Siren, Cas would have picked up on it,” Sam gives in.

“Well, he is half-fallen. He might be affected. He seems to like Steve a lot.” Not that this is bugging Dean or anything, but it seems strange to him. Cas never had such an easy connection to anyone right away and with Steve he declared immediately that he liked him. That just doesn’t happen.

“Steve? The blond guy? Yeah, he seemed nice,” Sam says and only proves Dean’s suspicions with it.

“See, you too!”

“What, and you are the only one who’s immune?” The sarcasm is audible.

“Uhm…,” Dean says as he tries not to think about the long lines of Bucky’s body and the way his lips stretched around -, “Maybe they’re travelling in pairs. Maybe it’s the other one that’s targeting me,” he says grudgingly.

There is a long pause on the other end of the line. “Dean, please don’t do anything stupid, okay?”

Dean rolls his eyes. “What do you think I’m going to do?”

The silence is heavy enough with meaning to imply anything from jumping his neighbor’s bones to ganking him in open daylight.

“Whatever it is, just don’t do it, okay, Dean? I’ll look into the telemarketer and see what I can find out. As soon as I know more I’ll let you know. Meanwhile, try to relax a bit. Maybe avoid your neighbors for a while. Don’t focus so much on them that you might overlook what is important.”

“And that is what exactly?”

Sam sighs deeply before he says, “Take care of yourself and look after Cas, okay?”

“Yeah, whatever.” Look after Cas. What a joke. Better to end this conversation now, before Sam has any other brilliant ideas. “Alright, Sasquatch. Go do your work and call me back when you have something. And if I find one dog hair in my room, I swear...”

“But Dean….”

But Dean hangs up before Sam can even finish.

 

“Was that Sam?” Cas asks as he enters the living room.

Dean looks up and tries not to notice how tired Cas looks. He’s got the bed and everything. He shouldn’t be looking tired.

“Yeah, he updated me on the case. And apparently he has a dog now.”

“What breed?” Cas asks curiously.

Dean raises eyebrows. “I didn’t ask. I don’t care. We are not going to have a dog in the bunker.”

Cas squints. “Why not? Sam’s always wanted a dog. I think it will be good for him.”

“Why not?” Dean asks in disbelief. “Have you seen us, Cas? Everything… everyone who gets close to us -,” Dean almost says _dies_ but he can’t bring himself to actually do it. It’s too painful and too true, ”- gets hurt sooner or later. The dog won’t be an exemption. Do you want to have the death of a puppy on your head?”

“Dean…,” Cas says it with such warmth, his name, as if he puts every emotion into this little word.

But Dean doesn’t want it. “You know it’s true so don’t tell me otherwise.”

But of course it wouldn’t be Cas if he’d listen so easily. “You have also saved so many.”

Dean snorts. That’s Cas’ play? The ‘ _You saved so many and that makes up for the ones you killed’_?

“What about Ellen then? Jo? Bobby? Kevin? Charlie? You? Anyone I ever got close to, Cas!” His voice betrays him and breaks. Dean turns away because he can’t look at Cas. Cas who still looks so tired. Who has broken wings and a grace that is dimming. And who still looks at Dean like Dean’s worth something. When he should see that all Dean ever did for him was breaking him bit by bit.

“Don’t,” Cas touches his shoulder but Dean shakes it off.

“Cas, I really don’t want to talk about this now,” he says without turning back.

“You can’t always run away,” Cas voice is soft and sad, and it breaks Dean’s heart. He wants to turn around and hug Cas, bury himself in the other man’s arms, tell him everything and forget that he doesn’t deserve this.

But he can’t. He just can’t.

“Watch me,” he says as he walks out of the living room, grabbing his jacket before he leaves the house, leaving Cas and everything that is unsaid behind.

 

***

**_Steve and Bucky_ **

Running with Bucky is not the same as running with Sam. For one, Bucky can keep up. For two, Bucky doesn’t only keep up, he runs either next to or half a step ahead of Steve. Which shouldn’t be as distracting as it is.

But Bucky’s chosen a tight shirt and it’s sweat-through now and clinging in all the right places. And his pants aren’t the bulky kind of runner’s shorts, either. Instead, they fall smoothly over the extent of Bucky’s ass, and yeah, maybe it’s not completely Bucky’s fault that he’s half a step in front of Steve.

A day ago, Steve would have said that it’s not cool of him to ogle his best friend. But that was before Bucky kissed him, throwing Steve for a loop.

They haven’t addressed the kiss after it happened, so Steve has no idea what it means for them. Or how to start the conversation to find out. He has always relied on Bucky for that. Everything unspoken between them, if it was ever brought up, it had always been Bucky who found that courage. And so far, that holds true in the new age. Some things never change, it seems. Which all in all, is a comforting thought, even if it doesn’t help much.

Less comforting is the black bike parked in front of their house next to their SUV. It’s a custom bike, one of a kind, so there’s no mistaking it.

They’ve slowed to a trot anyway but now they fall back to a walk.

“What’s Nat doing here?” Bucky asks with a frown.

“I have no idea,” Steve shakes his head. “I don’t think I’ve reported anything that would warrant her coming by.”

Naively, Steve expects Natasha to be waiting for them on the porch. But of course she isn’t. They find her on their couch in the living-room, texting at lightning speed.

“Natasha. I didn’t know you had keys to our house,” Steve grumbles.

“Hey, guys!” She finishes her text message and lets the phone slide back into her pocket before getting up and looking them over. “You look like you’re both still in one piece, that’s a good start.”

“What are you doing here, Nat?” Steve asks, because yeah, he’s been missing her, but he’s also kind of decided to get them away from the Avengers’ Tower for a reason.

“Threat assessment,” Natasha says lightly.

“What?” Steve asks. “That’s what we are here for.”

“M-hm,” she agrees.

“Care to explain?” he asks lowly. He doesn’t appreciate interference in his operations.

“Yep,” she nods. “But after you’re showered and smell better. Judging by this,” she points at their blankets that they haven’t had the chance to clear away yet, “you don’t really need the guest room, right? Care to clear your shit out, Bucky, and stow it with Steve’s so that I can move in?”

She doesn’t wait for an answer, just grabs her bag that was parked next to the couch and saunters out of the room.

Steve looks helplessly at Bucky who looks back at him with the same expression. Then they both shrug.

“You take the shower first, I’ll go clear out my stuff,” Bucky sighs.

“You don’t have to,” Steve says.

“She outranks me, Cap,” Bucky says, but there’s a small smirk attached to it.

“Doesn’t mean she can make you sleep in one bedroom with me,” Steve grumbles.

“Yeah, like I’m not sleeping in the same room as you anyway,” Bucky snorts and grabs their duvets to dump them in the main bedroom.

 

Half an hour later, both Bucky and Steve are freshly showered, though Bucky’s hair is still dripping wet and leaves a trail of water where he moves through the kitchen to get the eggs and some milk for the pancakes. Steve fights with the coffee maker in the meantime, and Natasha observes it all with an amused grin.

“Gotta say, domestic bliss looks good on you two,” she smirks.

Steve knows he’s blushing to the roots of his hair but Bucky levels Natasha with a stare. “You could help, you know.”

“I’ll help eating,” she shrugs.

“You could also tell us what you want,” Steve says.

“Touchy much?” She raises her eyebrows at him.

“I don’t like getting an additional agent on a mission and not knowing why,” Steve growls.

“No worries, big guy. You didn’t fuck up and I’m not here to take over. Just thought you could need someone with a bit more knowledge of modern technologies on this.”

Steve raises his eyebrows. Their neighbors don’t seem to be social media types. “Why is that?”

“Because SHIELD HQ got a call from the FBI last night,” Natasha shrugs.

“What?”

“Not the actual FBI, their FBI,” she points to the neighboring house. “And even Hill thought that pretty impressive.”

“How did they…?”

“They traced the origin of your phone number back to SHIELD HQ.”

“That is impressive,” Bucky whistles through his teeth.

Steve shakes his head, “We were over for dinner at their place last night, they couldn’t have had the time.”

Natasha shrugs. “We traced back their call, too, but it got pinged around the globe too much to be sure where it came from. Tech is pretty sure it originated from within the US.”

“So you’re saying SHIELD got outsmarted by a couple of mooks?” Bucky mocks.

Natasha glares at him but she doesn’t shut him up. It’s a thing Steve has definitely noticed. She lets things slide with Bucky the same way she does with Clint.

“The really interesting thing isn’t even where the call located from. It’s how they traced it. And we got that.”

Steve raises his eyebrows.

“They used a virus. Elaborate piece of code.”

Steve nods impatiently, because well, any piece of code that can hack SHIELD is elaborate. “What’s interesting about it?”

“That they didn’t write it.”

“So who did?” It takes only one look at her to know. “It’s classified.”

She nods.

“I’m Level 9, Romanov,” Steve grumbles.

She shrugs, “Technicalities. It’s on a need to know basis. Right now, I’m here, so you don’t need to know. End of discussion.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They're all idiots, but sometimes they manage to get it right anyway.

**_Steve and Bucky_ **

After breakfast, Natasha starts setting up what looks like a complicated arrangement of spyware and Steve waves Bucky off when he tries to help with the dishes and tells him to help Natasha instead. It’s good if at least one of them has an idea what’s going on. And Steve’s got a feeling that Nat is going to be more lenient with Bucky, whether he has the lower security clearing or not.

After breakfast is cleaned away, Steve checks in on them. Bucky is sitting on the floor Indian style, plugging cables into some technical gadget, while Natasha is on the couch, notebook on her lap, typing out things, then telling Bucky to switch some cables out.

They seem perfectly fine without him, so Steve leaves them be.

They’ve dedicated the second guest bedroom as a workout room, so that’s where Steve goes. It means he’s going to have to take another shower, but such are the luxuries of the modern age. You can shower twice a day without going broke.

He’s got to hold back, the place doesn’t have the reinforcements the Avengers’ Tower comes with, but it’s good anyway. Pounding on a punching bag is mindless business and he can let his body take over and clear his head.

That’s the plan anyway.

It works half-what. Enough that he isn’t upset anymore about the fact that Nat showed up by the time he gets out of his second shower. Not enough to quiet the conundrum of thoughts and feelings about Bucky that his head provides in a constant stream.

Bucky and Nat are sitting out on the porch when Steve comes back, the spy hardware in the living-room beeping quietly, abandoned to work on its own.

Steve goes to get himself a glass of water, intend on joining them. But when he looks through the open door to the porch, Bucky is lying with his head in Nat’s lap and she’s softly stroking through his hair. It pulls Steve up short. They’re friends, he knows that, but this seems intimate for being friends.

Her sixth sense sharp as always, Natasha turns around to him. “Hey Steve.” She doesn’t take her hand out of Bucky’s hair.

“Hey,” he clears his throat and steps out into the sun. “All set?”

“Yeah. Nothing much to do other than wait right now.”

Bucky yawns, stretching his whole body like a cat before curling up so that more of him ends up in the sunlight, absorbing the heat. “There’s worse things in the world.”

Steve has a sudden flashback to the times before the war, when he’s seen Bucky with a dame, either in their apartment or because Steve didn’t want to stay home alone and found himself at the same bar Bucky went to. Now Natasha would kick his ass for calling her a _dame_ but the image is still unwelcome.

“Uh, I’ll just,” he waves vaguely and retreats back into the safety of the house. Into the safety of the bedroom, actually, because he’s got a door he can close behind him there.

But closed doors never mean much, not to the Avengers in general, definitely not to the two people living in this house with him. So it doesn’t necessarily come as a surprise when the door opens a little while later.

“Steve? You good?” Bucky asks.

“Yeah, Buck,” he sighs. “Just give me a few minutes, okay?”

“Okay,” Bucky nods, but instead of going back out he lets the bedroom door click shut behind him and sits at the foot-end of the bed where Steve’s leaning against the headrest. He doesn’t crowd in on Steve, but he also doesn’t look like he has any intention of leaving him alone any time soon.

“You had many dames in the 40s,” Steve reluctantly gives voice to his thoughts when the silence gets too loud. “They never stuck around, but you were a real ladies’ man.”

Instead of an answer, Bucky lays a hand on Steve’s leg, just above the knee.

“Bucky, please,” Steve whispers.

Undeterred, Bucky scoots a little closer.

“Don’t you understand what I’m saying?” Steve asks pleadingly.

“I think you’re lying,” Bucky replies.

“What?”

Now Bucky’s at the same height as him, his hand on Steve’s chest. “I think you’re lying. Cause you’re trying to imply that we’ve never done this before. And I don’t believe that.” He leans in with the words, and then his lips are on Steve’s again, soft and sweet. “You were probably too good for me back then, too.” Another peck. “But I doubt I could stop myself then, either.” This time, the kiss lingers a little longer, Bucky’s mouth open and inviting.

Only when Steve refuses to play does Bucky draw back.

“So, are you telling me I’m wrong? That this the first time we’re feeling this or doing this?”

“No,” Steve whispers, his voice abandoning him. “No, it’s not. But it’s...” The first time they wouldn’t have to hide. The first time there doesn’t need to be shame attached to it. The first time they wouldn’t need to encourage each other to find someone else. Someone less dangerous. “I’m not your only option, Buck. I mean, I know it’s hard to find someone with shared life-experiences, but - there’s Nat. There’s others whose lives have not quite been normal. You ain’t stuck with me just cause you half-remember some things from - before.”

Bucky actually draws back enough that they are not touching anymore. “So is that how it was between us? Was I stuck with you? Cause that picture you drew, didn’t look like it.”

Steve lets his head fall back against the headrest, though the ceiling is not offering any insights how to answer that. Finally, he sighs and turns back to Bucky. “There were days when you felt like you were stuck, yeah. When all you wanted was to be normal and to be out of - whatever it was that we had. There were days when I felt the same thing. You gotta understand. It wasn’t like it is now. There was no way two guys could go outside holding hands. Let alone be seen kissing in public. They’d have lynched us right then and there. And even if they hadn’t, your poor Momma would have had a heart attack. And your sisters would never have found good husbands. Not if they came from a family with a queer. Bucky, we… we felt what we felt and we tried to make the best of it. But we were never…”

“A couple,” Bucky supplies.

“Yeah,” Steve nods. “You’re right, we,” he swallows, “we touched and we kissed and we got jealous but we never talked about - it just wasn’t possible.”  

Bucky lets that sink in for a moment. Then he asks, “So, did you have a girl?”

“Yes.”

“What was her name?”

“Peggy. Peggy Carter.”

Bucky thinks about it, then he shakes his head. “I’ve read the name in the old files. But no memories, sorry.”

“Well, don’t think you ever made up your mind about whether you liked her or not. She was an officer. Outranked us both. She was a good woman.”

“Did she know?”

“Yeah,” Steve nods. “Yeah, she knew about you. Not that I’d ever told her. But she was smart. She figured it out.”

“How’d she react?”

“Surprisingly well. Told me she understood. That she’d had a girlfriend or two that she’d had not quite platonic feelings for. She was a pretty amazing lady.”

“Would you have married her? If things had been different.”

And yeah, this might be a Bucky who doesn’t remember the old days, but Steve knows that tone well. “Buck,” Steve shakes his head, “how am I supposed to know? Maybe. If there had been a way to stay close to you.”

“No way she’d been okay with that,” Bucky shakes his head.

No statement as to whether he’d been okay with it. Or how he feels about it right now. “No way to know. I kind of took a crash landing in the ice before it became relevant.”

“Yeah, why’d you do that anyway?” Bucky asks, eyes narrowing.

“To save the world?”

“You’re a terrible liar, Steve.”

“I _did_ save the world.”

“Not saying you didn’t. But I’ve read the reports. More than once. And they don’t make sense. You had time to get out of that plane.”

“Couldn’t risk it,” Steve shakes his head.

“Did you want to die, Steve?” It’s asked quietly, no accusation, but Bucky’s attention is intense.

“I didn’t,” Steve insists. He just hadn’t really wanted to live, either. “I took what I deemed to be the safest route for the world.”

“So, complete coincidence that you crashed your plane into the ocean a mere couple of months after I took a tumble down a mountain?”

Steve presses his lips into a hard line and doesn’t answer.

“You know that there might still come a point where you have to neutralize me, right?” Bucky asks.

“Not going to happen,” Steve shakes his head.

“I never want to be that again, Steve. If they re-take me…”

“ _Not_ going to happen!”

“If they re-take me,” Bucky repeats, “I need someone to take me out. And I trust you the most.”

“What? No!”

“Steve,” Bucky continues patiently while Steve’s becoming increasingly agitated, “I know that for some weird reason you love me. It doesn’t even matter in which way or why. I trust you with this. If you’re the one to do it, you’re going to get the job done and you’ll do it fast. I’m good with that. Probably shoulda have died decades ago.”

“Buck, that’s not...”

“But not you, Steve,” Bucky talks over him. “You are needed. So tell me honestly whether I can ask you or whether I need to ask Natasha to do this for me.”

Steve’s stomach has dropped to the floor and he feels sick and wants to tell him, no, don’t ask Natasha. Because she is good at her job and she keeps her emotions in check. She’s going to do it. But he can’t promise Bucky something that he knows he can’t go through with, either. “I’m with you to the end, Buck, but you can’t ask me this. I can’t do it. And fair warning, I won’t just let Natasha do it, either.”

Bucky looks at him for a long moment, then his face softens into something that is almost a smile. “I want a happy end as much as the next guy, Steve. This modern age is a pretty good place to live in. So I won’t go and do anything stupid. But chances are, there ain’t gonna be a happy end for me. So I need to know that I’ve got an out. That I won’t have to go back to -,” he breaks off.

“More memories are coming back, aren’t they?” Steve asks.

Bucky’s face closes up, lines instantly harsh and withdrawn.

“Please, Buck, you can tell me. Don’t shut me out,” Steve pleads.

Bucky quietly scoots up on the bed until he’s leaning against the headboard next to Steve. He stares into nothing for a while. “The arm. I remember that. How they put it on. I mean, not all of it. I must have passed out at some point. That happened quite a bit I think. A lot of shit kind of just blends.” He leans a little closer, letting his flesh shoulder brush Steve’s. “But that’s not the worst. The worst is that there’s this moment where you can’t breathe. Where you think you’re drowning. When they put you on the ice. Sometimes I remembered enough even though they’d wiped me, that I’d remember that. I’ve killed a few people fighting them. Drowning is horrible. I never want to drown again.”

“Okay,” Steve says because there’s nothing else to say. He tries to keep his voice smooth, tries to be a safe person to tell this to. He can break down and cry later. “No more drowning. That’s a good plan.”

Surprisingly, Bucky chuckles a bit and curls up against Steve’s side, nudging his way under Steve’s arm much like a cat. “Wanna tell me why my memories say it wasn’t just in the field that I slept next to you? Why I got a hazy feeling that we also shared a bed at the apartment?”

“Uhh. There was no space for a second bed?”

“Right, punk. Nice try. Still a bad liar. Try again.”

“Ey,” Steve says and pokes Bucky in the ribs.

“I think I could sleep in this bed here. If you were there, too.”

Steve swallows around the lump in his throat. “We can try it out if you want to. Tonight.”

“Yes,” Bucky nods. “Yes, okay.”

 

***

**_Dean and Cas_ **

The fresh air helps Dean to regain some perspective. He is on a job. The sooner the case is over, the better. So he decides to go to the public library for research. He would check the police office, too, but that would mean going back to the house to change into his FBI outfit, and no, that’s not happening right now. Maybe in the afternoon, Dean shrugs to himself, and searches for the address of the library on his phone. A 15 minutes’ walk from where he’s currently at.

That seems doable. At least it gives him some time to think about what he wants to look for. Newspaper reports about people going missing, mainly. Also research on Sirens and Incubi - just in case. Though Google is probably actually better for that than a suburban library.

Dean sighs. This day feels long already, even though it has only just started.

 

Three hours later Dean walks out of the library empty-handed.

There are no unusual missing persons’ reports, though a handful of people disappeared over the past few years. But it doesn’t seem to be more than in any other town. At least the lack of new material gave him time to find information about Incubi and rule them out, so that is something. Doesn’t stop him from wondering where the hell Sam has gotten his information about this case from in the first place. Dean dimly remembers Sam mumbling about Garth, but maybe werewolf-boy mixed up his locations? Or maybe Dean doesn’t remember that right at all. Sue him, there had been pie. That had taken priority over Sam’s rambling.

Reluctantly, Dean turns back home. He’s got to face Cas sometime. And there really isn’t much more he can do on the case without getting some additional info from Sam.

Still, Dean’s steps get ever slower when he finally reaches their street. Their house looks peaceful, light blue color contrasting nicely with the white picket fence. Dean’s got a house with a white picket fence. And a spouse waiting for him inside. Sort of. It messes with his head, that’s what it does. In the darkness of the bunker, at least he gets reminded of who he really is. Here? Not so much.

Thing is, Cas knows how much Dean had wanted this once. How hard he’s tried to make this kind of life work for him. He also knows how bitterly that has failed. Dean had concluded back then what he already knew, that a hunter is not made for suburbia. That the monsters are always going to follow and he’s never going to fit in and be happy.

Only now, he doesn’t know.

Cause it’s different with Cas. Yeah, they bitch and bicker and hurt each other, but Cas doesn’t expect Dean to fill a predefined role. Actually, whenever Dean tries, Cas looks right through him and calls him out on it. Dean never had that much ability to fool him. It should bug him more than it does.

A chortled burst of laughter finds its way out of Dean’s chest, because maybe he should just go and ask Cas instead of trying to make sense of his own feelings. Cas knows better what Dean feels than he does himself, probably.

He’s come that far when he notices the bike. He stops short for a moment, then carefully goes closer.

She’s a beauty. Black and tall and obviously custom-made.

He inches towards her, drawn by the sleek lines and the fiery attitude.

He’s just stretching out his hand to run it over her seat, when a voice says, “Uh, uh, this baby is a lady. You can look, you can’t touch!”

There’s a redhead leaning against the porch railing of their neighbor’s house, arms crossed in front of her chest, watching him sternly.

“Sorry,” Dean apologizes. “She yours?”

“Yep,” comes the short answer.

“She’s beautiful.” It’s no more than the truth.

“I know,” the redhead nods but for the first time there’s a smile, too, as she pushes herself off the railing and comes closer. “You a biker?”

“Nah,” Dean shakes his head. “But I recognize beauty when I see it. I’ve got a 67 Chevy Impala.”

“Good year,” the redhead nods and holds out her hand. “I’m Natasha by the way. And I’m guessing you’re the hot neighbor.”

“I’m the _what_?” he splutters. Living in suburbia is becoming a serious health risk, seeing how often he’s choked on his own spit lately.

“Oh, the boys might have talked about your partner,” she chuckles easily. “Though I got to say, I wouldn’t disagree with them either way.”

And oh fuck, Dean is speechless. While a woman is talking to him. That doesn’t happen. Not ever. “I… you… you are hot, too.”

She dissolves into peals of laughter. “No worries, sweetheart, I’ve already had breakfast, I’m not going to eat you up.” She winks at him. “So, what do you think of my two good boys? Steve and Bucky, I mean,” she clarifies. “And don’t just say: _they are hot, too_. We all know that.”

Dean feels himself blushing furiously, because fucking hell, now his brain is providing him with images of the redhead plus Bucky and after the beer bottle incident that is not a direction that his thoughts should be going in and fuck, he needs to get out of this situation before he embarrasses himself. Judging by the way his pants feel tighter than they did, he’s on a speed train towards embarrassing, and really, fuck his stupid brain for being inappropriate. “I.. umm… I… my boyfriend is waiting…”

“Mmh,” she flashes him a smile. “I getcha. Wouldn’t want to keep him waiting for too long. What with it being summer and all, he’s probably all hot and bothered…”

And yeah, Dean knows she’s fucking with him and he wants to have a witty comeback, but his mind is caught somewhere between panicked and completely blank. So instead of answering anything that would need him to be coherent, he stutters out a “see ya” and bids a hasty retreat.

 

Dean breathes a sigh of relief when the door closes behind him, putting a physical wall between him and the fucking Sex Gods they have as neighbors (Sex Gods? Is that a thing? He better look it up.) The cool shade of the house calms his racing heart and after a minute or two he manages to push the images of Cas _hot and bothered_ that Natasha’s teasing has brought up to the recesses of his mind where he can bury them to be forgotten.

Talking of Cas. Dean’s been standing in the hallway for at least five minutes, and there has been no movement at all. The AC is rattling lowly, but that’s it. Everything else is quiet.

Fear clutches at Dean’s heart. “Cas?” he calls out.

No answer. There is the possibility that he just didn’t hear him, so Dean keeps calling for him as he walks deeper into the house. “Cas? Are you here?”

Still no answer. Dean’s heart starts pounding as he looks around. No signs of a struggle or someone breaking and entering while he was away. That’s good at least.

“Where the hell are you?” he mutters more to himself than anything else.

He goes for his knife. Better safe than sorry.

He looks into the kitchen and it’s empty. It seems that no one has done anything in it since breakfast. Living-room next. No sign of Cas there, either. Maybe he went out to get something from the store? But Cas would have told him, wouldn’t he? Wrote him a text or would have called? Dean checks his phone to be sure and nope, nothing.

What if Cas left after this morning? Decided that he had enough. Dean wouldn’t judge him for that. He had been a dick. Again. Because for some reason he always pushes Cas away, always hurts him when he doesn’t want to. Sooner or later Cas is going to leave him, even when he says that he won’t. Even when Dean wishes with all of his heart that it was true, that Cas liked him, in more than one way, as more than a friend. That it was true that Cas wants to stay by his side even after all the things he has said and done. After all the times he has hurt him, used him more as a tool than behaved like a friend. After all the times that he wasn’t there when Cas needed him.

Dean’s head is spinning until he enters the bedroom - and there he is.

“Cas, thank God, you’re here!”

Cas looks up from where he was staring at a book about gardening. “You’re back.”

Dean can’t quite judge the emotion on Cas’ face, whether it’s surprise or relief or something else altogether. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You said I should watch you running,” Cas says flatly.

And yeah, he kind of did that. “You know me. I always come back,” Dean grumbles.

“One day you won’t,” Cas says. There’s still no particular inflection, like Cas has already resigned himself to the fact.

It makes Dean angry again, because yeah, he’s kind of been thinking the same thing about Cas, that one day he’ll fly off and leave Dean behind, but it’s not the same thing. “How can you even think that, Cas! I know what you gave up for me. I’m here for you.”

With Dean’s rising anger, Cas’ voice gets harder, too, resignation replaced by cold fury. “You are now, but what about tomorrow? In a year? You have left me behind before. It’s only because you needed me that you came back. One day the world won’t need saving anymore. What then? How long will it take you to forget?”

“I could never forget you!” It comes out more vehement than strictly necessary, making Dean’s feelings clearer than he wants them to be.

But not clear enough for Cas to trust the words, judging by how he’s searching Dean’s face for a lie. “You mean that?”

“Of course I mean it!” Dean growls, offended because he’s accidentally baring his heart here and Cas doesn’t even believe him. “I care about you, okay? I suck at showing it, I know, but I do. You matter, Cas. You matter to _me_.”

“Then prove it,” Cas growls back.

Dean freezes “What?”

Cas gets up, stalks over to Dean. “It’s all just empty words. Show me that I matter.”

“Cas…” Dean mumbles, involuntarily retreating half a step, because Cas’ righteous fury feels dangerous.

Dean backs into the wall but Cas doesn’t let up, instead he growls right into his face, “ _Prove_ it!”

“Dammit Cas!”

Dean crushes his lips onto Cas’, a hard, angry kiss that has them both staggering, now in the opposite direction, until Cas’ knees hit the bed and he stumbles. His hands come up to fist into Dean’s shirt and then he’s drawing Dean down with him, Dean landing on top of Cas, barely managing to catch his own weight on the mattress not on Cas’ sternum. But Cas will have none of that, instead he’s digging his fingers into Dean’s back, not allowing him to retreat even an inch.

Not that Dean could. Or would want to.

The world is spinning with the sensation of Cas’ warmth everywhere along his body and then his lips are on Cas’ again, and this time, the anger bleeds out, leaving behind only eagerness.

The air between them changes, the crackles of angry energy fizzling into something softer and Cas lets go of Dean’s shirt to instead wrap his arms around his neck. He doesn’t pull him down, though, just holds on and goes pliant under Dean’s mouth. It’s dizzying in its own right, having Cas under him like this, Dean’s weight crushing him into the mattress without resistance.

Cas trusts him.

The realization hits him with sudden clarity.

Even after everything, Cas trusts him.

Tears prickle at the corner of Dean’s eyes, but instead of letting them fall, he pours everything he feels  into the kiss, lets it go soft and slow and intimate. Lets it catch both Cas and him where they had been falling on their own.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Code Red

**_Steve and Bucky_ **

“They are clueless. Or at least that one is,” Natasha concludes when she comes back inside. “You have most definitely not been made. Though he looks the type to have collected Captain America comics when he was a kid.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “Like he’s going to recognize me from those.”

“Do you have any of them?” Bucky’s eyes light up. It had taken half an hour but then they’d both been composed enough to join Natasha again. True to form, she hadn’t asked but Steve got the feeling she knew anyway.

“I’ve got the one where the two of you go skinny-dipping bookmarked,” Natasha grins.

“I’m in them?” Bucky asks wide-eyed.

“What did you think?” Nat shakes her head. “Captain America’s best friend and side-kick. Also, skinny-dipping.” She smirks and Bucky grins back at her.

“Did we actually do that?” Bucky turns around.

“Umm, yeah, I guess,” Steve nods. “It was more jumping into a freezing river because it was that or no bath at all, though.”

Natasha snorts. “Right.”

“It was the army, Nat,” Steve chides. “In the 40s. Believe me, whatever your personal feelings, you didn’t want to get caught with - something like this.”

She gives him a thoughtful stare, then she turns abruptly. “Bucky, can you get me the black canvas bag out of my room?”

“Sure,” Bucky nods and gets up.

As soon as he’s gone, Natasha turns back to Steve. “I like you, Steve. A lot. But you hurt him, you’re dead. Not a threat, just a warning.”

Steve’s eyebrows rise. “Pretty sure he’s not a damsel in distress. Or a lost puppy.”

“No, he’s an assassin and I got the scar to prove it. But he’s also hopelessly in love with you, and completely screwed in the head cause of what Hydra did to him. You take advantage of him, your whole supersoldier gig will mean jack.”

Steve nods. He can tell Natasha is serious. “I took this assignment to give him a few weeks of peace. But I try to keep boundaries. I know he’s not good and I don’t plan to abuse my position of power.”

Another assessing look that makes him think Natasha has already figured out how she can make sure that he stays dead if she kills him. “He doesn’t need distance from you, Rogers,” she says grudgingly. “He needs to feel that he’s not a monster. That he is still worthy of a good person’s love. I can’t give him that. I can be his big sister, but that’s it. I’m a monster myself, and he knows it. But you aren’t. Ball is in your court, gramps.”

Steps in the hallway announce that Bucky’s coming back before Steve can find a reply to that.

“Warning stands,” Natasha tells him and then turns to Bucky, “Give me that and we’ll see whether the virus has found its target.”

Bucky shoots him an insecure look, obviously torn between doing as he’s told and asking what the hell is going on.

Steve sighs. It’s a convoluted ball of complicated. So he takes the easy out. He points to the spyware. “What exactly are we doing?”

“Hacking into your neighbors’ computer. And from there hopefully into their server.”  

“Don’t you need their notebook for that?”

“Nope,” Natasha shrugs. “They have a very lovely Wifi that eliminates the need for a break-in. Very sorry if that ruins your evening plans.”

 

***

**_Dean and Cas_ **

Time has no meaning. Has it been seconds? Minutes? Hours? Dean can’t bring himself to care. This right here and now is what he wants. It feels like a dream, like something he’s made up because he wants it so much, so just in case he wakes up the minute he lets go of Cas he’s not going to. His mind is awesome with the HD and dolby surround, so if this is all he ever gets, he’s going to enjoy it to the limit. He sucks Cas’ lower lip into his mouth, reveling in the way it makes the angel shudder.

Which of course is when his phone rings. Because Dean can’t have nice things. He wants to ignore it, badly, but it keeps ringing and Cas tenses under him.

“Fuck,” Dean mutters, and then “Sorry”.

Cas nods, but the HD dolby surround doesn’t stop, so either it’s a very persistent fever dream (Jinn?) or it’s real. In which case that begs the question what happens now. Because - this has changed things between them, right? They can’t just go back to not touching after this, can they? And okay, maybe Dean is slightly desperate.

At least he has managed to locate his phone in the meantime. The caller is Sam. Well, who else. This better be important.

“What’s up?” He says trying not to sound too upset about the timing.

“Where is your laptop?” Sam asks without explanation. Something is off.

“In the living room I guess?” Dean answers. “What’s wrong?”

“Is it on?”

“No.. I guess?” Dean says unsure. It’s been a while since he last used the notebook. “Cas, have you used the laptop and left it on?”

Cas shrugs.

“Can you check?” Sam asks, sounding more impatient by the minute.

Dean sighs. “Yeah, sure.”

“Right now, please.”

“On my way, on my way,” Dean grumbles. “Don’t get your panties all in a bunch about this.”

“What’s wrong?” Cas asks, much closer than Dean expected him to be.

“Jesus, Cas.” But then, the personal space speech makes no sense anymore and he doesn’t want it to make sense, either. So he opts for reaching out and squeezing Cas’ hand. “No idea. The Sasquatch is too impatient to actually tell me.”

Cas tilts his head, confused more about Dean’s gesture than his words, Dean thinks, so Dean lets go before he turns around to go to the living room and find the laptop. He flips it open and of course it’s turned on.

“Okay, Sam, the laptop is on. Now would you please tell me what’s going on?”

“Can you see if there is anything going on on the screen?” Sam asks, still not explaining things.

Dean sighs. He is getting sick of this. His computer knowledge may not be up to par with Sam’s but it’s not like he’s living in the stone age. He sits down on the couch and reaches for the laptop to type in his password on the opening screen.

Which works, which is the good news. The bad news is that the screen is now completely empty except for a DOS window through which there’s a rapid flow of very small text.

“What the hell?” Dean growls. “Someone’s trying to break in. What do I do? Turn the notebook off? Take out the battery?”

“No, don’t,” Sam says quickly. “Just describe what you see.”

“Text. Numbers. All in a command box. It’s too fast to make out.” Dean tries a few key combinations. “Normal keyboard commands don’t work. And the screen is blank apart from that one window. Sam, who the hell is hacking us?”

“I’m working on it, Dean, just give me a sec.” There is furious typing on the other end of the line. “I’ll try to counter-hack them. Maybe I can find out more about them.”

“Alright. I’m putting you on speaker. Tell me if I need to do anything from here.” Dean pushes the speaker button and lays his phone down on the table.

“We’re being hacked?” Cas asks confused.

“Hi Cas,” Sam answers absentmindedly. “Whoever this is, they are good. This might need a moment.”

There is more typing on the other end, and Cas sits down next to Dean. He’s keeping enough distance between them that they won’t accidentally touch. Dean notices it with a frown, but then, he can’t really blame Cas. They’ve gone from fighting to making out in record time, and Dean is pretty sure that there is more that needs to be talked about, if this - whatever _this_ is - is supposed to have a chance at all.

“Can you find out the source?” Dean asks to break the silence.

“I am trying, Dean,” Sam mutters. “Give me some peace, will ya?”

So Dean stares at his laptop and tries to make out whether there is any change in the DOS window.

_Beep. Beep._

What was that? A text message? “Sam, who is texting you?” Dean wants to know because maybe the hacker got to their phones, too.

“Dean, I really have no time for this right now, you have no idea what is going on here!” Sam almost shouts and then breaks down into a string of muttered curses.

Dean looks questioningly at Cas.

“Don’t ask me,” Cas shrugs.

Sam huffs, “Hey Cas, I hope he doesn’t drive you insane.”

“Only a little,” Cas says, and he’s staring right at Dean who can’t help but stare right back. That is a tiny smirk in Cas’ eyes, isn’t it?

“Good… good. Hah, okay, they are close to you… very…. What? What is that?” Sam asks confounded.

A second window pops up on the screen, its text at least as fast as in the other one.

“Did you do that, Sam?”

“No, that’s definitely not me,” Sam says puzzled. “That’s someone new.”

 

***

**_Steve and Bucky_ **

Natasha has a way to smile that is scarier than anyone else shouting. She’s using that smile while she’s typing. “Yeah, darling, you’re good, but you’re not that good. You’re using code that someone else wrote. I’m not,” she mutters.

“Didn’t know you could do that,” Bucky says. He’s following each and every of Natasha’s movements. Steve has given up on that ten minutes ago. Maybe Bucky can decipher any of what’s happening here, Steve sure can’t.

“I can do anything, honey,” Nat answers and it doesn’t sound like boasting, more like an absentminded statement of fact. “Ha, gotcha. It ain’t the neighbors.”

“What is not the neighbors?” Steve asks.

“The counterattack,” Nat says and sends him a look like he’s really really stupid, “it comes from - somewhere around Lebanon, Kansas. Whoa, what the hell is happening now?”

Steve looks at the screen, trying to decipher what has Natasha suddenly upset. Looks like there is a second set of code in a new window. “Is that them?”

“Nope,” Natasha says tightly, “that’s someone else altogether.”

Bucky immediately goes a shade paler. “HYDRA?”

“Can’t tell yet,” comes the curt answer. “But my first guess is no. I think we triggered a tripwire.”

“A tripwire?”

“Obviously not a physical one, Cap. Dammit, I can’t catch that thing.”

“Try rerouting your code? Come at it from two sides?” Bucky proposes.

“You’re not half bad at this, Barnes,” Natasha says and opens another console. “Where’d you learn this?”

Bucky shrugs. “Two snipers in strategic positions is better than one.”

“Yeah, but snipers rely on staying hidden. We’re already out in the open,” Natasha licks her lips and types furiously. Then suddenly she stops and stares at the screen for a moment. She exhales a long breath and looks up. “Cap, this is your op. Permission to take a risk?”

“Like you’ve asked for permission on anything else so far,” Steve says.

“Well, nothing so far has interfered with your mission parameters.”

And that doesn’t sound good. “What do you want to do?”

“I want to sign my code,” Natasha says evenly.

“Meaning?” Steve asks.

“Meaning that if the third party knows who I am, they’ll know it’s my code.”

“You’re going to give away who we are.”

“Yes,” Natasha nods. “And I can’t guarantee that the mooks won’t figure it out as well.”

“So the third party is a friendly?” Steve asks.

“Yes.”

“The same one whose code the neighbors are using? You tripped their tripwire and they noticed you?”

Natasha cracks a small smile. “You’re not as slow on the uptake as could be expected from a 90-year-old.”

“Thanks I guess,” Steve grumbles. “You’re certain it’s a friendly?”

“Ex-SHIELD. Been underground for a while, but no signs of working against us. We parted amiably.”

Steve thinks about it for another long moment. It’s a pretty big risk. But then, Natasha came here because of this person, not because of their inhuman neighbor. So there must be something about this. “Do it,” he finally nods. “But you help us cleaning up any fallout.”

“You got it, Cap,” Natasha nods and turns back to her notebook. She types a series of commands into the new window and then waits.

There is a sudden break in the text of the command box that belongs to the third party. Only the original window is still the same, Natasha’s code running through it uninterrupted. Then there’s a flurry of activity. It’s all weird symbols and quickly executed commands as far as Steve can see, but Natasha smirks and then starts a new round of commands in her window, while keeping an eye on what’s happening in the other window.

It all goes over Steve’s head, but for a lack of better word, what she does looks like - texting. Only where Steve has trouble typing out short messages on his phone, Nat’s hands are flying over the keyboard. But there are pauses and replies and once or twice she snorts softly.

Finally, she mutters, “Yeah, yeah, I’m helping to clean this up, don’t you worry,” and then with a new round of commands windows starts plopping up and then disappearing. Finally, the first of three DOS windows disappears as well. “Okay, one last sweep,” Natasha murmurs. “And done. Every trace we’ve ever been in their system is gone. Saying goodbye, and, we’re out.”

Natasha’s second window closes and a moment later the final window is gone, too. Natasha types something else and the screen is back to show a normal Windows starting background. Natasha smiles satisfied and closes the computer.

“So that had a good outcome I gather?” Steve says.

Nat nods. “We’re going to have a visitor.”

 

***

**_Dean and Cas_ **

“Dammit, it’s gone!”

Dean can see that. His computer looks completely normal again.

“Fuck.” There is a noise like Sam just threw something against the wall.

“Sammy?” Dean asks carefully.

“Fuckety fuck fuck. They cleared the drive.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning that I tried to back-up some of this code to analyze it later, but they did a complete sweep. I lost all the info. Fuck.”

“So they hacked us and we got nothing out of it?” Dean asks carefully.

“No, we got something alright. The first signal came from very close to you. I fear you had a point about your neighbors, Dean.”

“Ha!” Dean exclaims because he loves being right.

“But that’s not what worries me,” Sam sighs.

“Huh?”

“Seriously, Dean? The way you’ve been acting if I had any hacking skills, I’d try to check you out, too. No, what’s much worse is that they’re working together with whoever that other hacker was.”

“They are?” Dean asks dumbly.

“Yes. They seemed as surprised as us about them showing up, but then they just - I’m reasonably sure they worked together to clean all their data of our servers, too. Ah fuck, this is not good.”

“Because it’s not a monster,” Cas supplies.

“We don’t know that,” Dean says.

“What we do know is that they’re professionals,” Sam states. “That was a professional job. Fuck.”

“Sam, stop with the cursing, it freaks me out,” Dean interrupts.

There’s a long moment of silence and then a defeated sigh. “You need backup.”

“What?”

“Seriously, Dean, that’s mafia type professionals. You need backup. I’m sorry and I really wanted to give you two some t- I mean, I know you two are doing great working this case, but this could get dangerous. I’m coming over.”

“Are you sure this warrants you coming here, Sam?” Cas pipes up. And is this Cas trying to say he’d rather spend some more time alone with Dean?

“I’m sorry, Cas. Believe me, I really am,” Sam sounds apologetic, too, “but I don’t think we should risk it. Between this and the telemarketers and the fact that all I could dig up on that license plate on your neighbor’s car is that there is no owner listed, this is getting too weird.”

“I see,” Cas says noncommittally.

“Dean? You’re only allergic to cats, right?”

“You’re bringing the dog?” Dean asks shocked.

“I can’t well leave him alone in the bunker.” Dean can virtually see the eye-roll attached to that. “But don’t worry, he’s housebroken already.”

“Oh great,” Dean groans.

“Okay, guys, I’m going to get my stuff packed. Expect me by tomorrow morning.”

With that Sam hangs up. Dean stares in disbelief at the laptop. What seems like only a moment ago he was in the bedroom kissing his best friend, and now his brother is going to bring a slobber-monster over.

“What now?” Cas asks and shakes him out of his thoughts.

Dean rubs a hand over his face. “I still don’t know what exactly happened. But I guess we should prepare for Sam. _And_ the dog.”

“Do you think this hacker person is dangerous?”

“You can ask Sam about the details when he comes by. If someone can figure it out, it’s him. You know, he is the genius in the family.” And yeah, maybe Dean is a bit miffed that his own efforts in the library have come to naught, but Sam has noticed that they were being hacked, while Dean was otherwise occupied.

“You know that that’s not true,” Cas says with a soft voice and gentle expression.

And if Dean reacts to that, they’re going to be in heavy talk territory and he’s not up for that right now. “Whatever.”

“No, Dean,” Cas says and reaches for Dean’s hand, “Don’t do this to yourself.”

“Cas, please. Not now,” Dean asks softly, looking up into cool blue eyes.

“Alright,” Cas gives in. “But I don’t like it when I put yourself down.”

“Accepted,” Dean nods because that’s pretty much the only thing he can answer. And because words desert him for the moment, he leans forward and lets his head to drop to Cas’ shoulder before he can talk himself out of it.

He breathes a silent sigh of relief when Cas’ arm comes up around him, drawing him closer. Seems like his Jinn dream is still going well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The [skinny dipping](http://kalika999.tumblr.com/post/133665033070/comic-bucky-captain-america-comics-23-aka) in the comics actually happened. In 1943! 
> 
> Also, real life is kicking our butts a bit, so here's your early warning that we might not be able to keep the weekly update rhythm. Current estimates bring the story to a total of around 12 chapters, maybe one or two more if we get carried away.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pie.

**_Dean and Cas_ **

It doesn’t take long before Dean starts fidgeting, though. He tries his best to pretend that everything is like before. That they have weeks and weeks of figuring this out between them. That the case isn’t really all that big and a few days of no forward movement won’t make a difference.

But it doesn’t work. They’ve been hacked and Sam is coming over and sitting here makes Dean feel useless. But if he’s useless, he’s worthless and that means he has no right to enjoy sitting here with Cas’ arm wrapped around him. He should be doing something.

Another few minutes of rising agitation, and Dean can’t take it anymore.

“That’s it, I am going over there,” he decides. “Are you coming?”

The head tilt indicates a no. Or at least some mounting confusion. When really, Cas should get it. It’s not like Cas doesn’t have the same interest in being useful.

“We can at least get something out of them before Sam gets here,” Dean adds impatiently. “Come on, Cas.”

But the head tilt doesn’t let up. “I don’t think it’s wise to go over there without pretense,” Cas says carefully.

“And why is that so?” Dean asks, impatience giving way to annoyance.

“Because of human social norms. They brought us lemonade. We invited them to dinner. As far as I understand it, we now need a reason to go over and talk to them. Anything else would make them even more suspicious.”

And okay, Dean sees Cas’ point. Barging in there after their neighbors just hacked them is suspicious. They need a plan, preferably a good one. Something better than that damn lemonade.

“Pie!” Dean exclaims because really that’s as simple as it is brilliant.

“What’s with pie?”

“Pie is the answer! Bringing someone pie is always an acceptable reason to visit them. So we are going to make pie. The ‘Classic lemon meringue pie’, my second favorite after apple pie. At least in summer. Not for Thanksgiving. Thanksgiving is pumpkin and pecan pie time. And Christmas means cherry pie. After apple pie. Because apple pie is always the best. But no way in hell will they ever get my apple pie. They don’t deserve it.”

The head tilt disappears as Cas’ smile grows the longer Dean is talking about pie, and well, yes, Dean has thought a lot about pie over the years, sue him. He breaks off with a frown because really Cas shouldn’t be making fun of him for what is a brilliant idea.

But Cas’ smile stays soft and doesn’t turn mocking like Sam’s would. “I would like to make a pie with you,” Cas says. 

And whoa, Dean is not expecting the immediate response of the bazillion butterflies in his stomach all flying forward simultaneously to urge him to fling himself at Cas, because Cas and pie together sounds like Heaven on Earth. Dean actually stumbles half a step forward before he catches himself and stops. He can’t just devour the man. Much as he wants to. They’ve only just found a measure of closeness between them and Dean is pretty sure that for now, all physical contact has to be negotiated and explicitly consented to.

“Pie means I need to go shopping, though. Uh, let me think, what do I need? Lemon juice and eggs and vanilla…” Dean walks over to the shelves to see what they already have, intentionally putting some distance between himself and Cas.

Cas follows him, though he stays a few steps back.

Dean doesn’t think anything of it until he turns back to find a pen and paper to write down what he needs and sees the steep frown on Cas’ face. He stills. “What’s wrong, Cas?”

“You’re leaving again?” Cas asks, voice small.

“What? No! I’m just going for a grocery run. It won’t take more than half an hour.”

Cas nods, but the apprehension in his features does not get less. And yeah, Dean has put him through the wringer once already today, hasn’t he?

“Do you want to come with me?” Dean asks, smile edgy.

“Would you – would you want me to come?”

It hurts somewhat fierce that Cas even has to ask. That he trusts that little. But it’s not like Dean wasn’t had it coming. So he grits his teeth against the pain and bears it. “Always, Cas. I always want you near.”

 

***

**_Steve and Bucky_ **

Natasha directs them to clean away the spy equipment. She’s got the information she needed and now she’s on the phone, talking to God knows who while leaving it to Steve and Bucky to disassemble the gadgets and store them in their cases again.

Steve grumbles under his breath, because he’s got no idea about this and it’s Nat’s own fault if the cables end up in the wrong boxes.

Bucky shoots him a grin, gone as quickly as it came, but radiant nonetheless. “You can leave it to me if you want, Cap. Is not like the boss should be cleaning up the electronics’ mess.”

Steve sighs and looks at the cable in his hand. “Thanks for the offer, but in my experience, the boss usually ends up cleaning up the mess.”

“Is that why they send us Natasha?” Bucky deadpans and it takes a moment for Steve to grasp that yes, this was an actual joke.    

Steve breaks out laughing and there’s a smirk tugging at the corners of Bucky’s mouth, obvious pride that his joke made Steve laugh shining on his face.

Steve surges forward then, because seeing Bucky happy makes him happy and there’s butterflies in his stomach and he just has to. Bucky lets out a surprised _umpf_ when Steve’s weight crashes into him but he doesn’t pull away, wrapping his arms around Steve’s neck instead, and that’s enough invitation for Steve to seal their lips together.

It’s still new and bright, the taste of Bucky, and Steve can’t help but lick and suckle at his lips, trying to taste and memorize as much of him as he can. Bucky follows his lead easily, opening his mouth ever so slightly, letting Steve roam and taste to his heart’s content.

It’s wonderful and exhilarating and a tiny bit frightening, having Bucky fall pliant under him, his trust holding even more weight in the knowledge that he’s starting to remember everything that’s been done to him.

_I love you, Buck._ He can’t say it, not now, not yet, not when Bucky doesn’t know whether Steve’s love is for him or for the person he once was. Not that there is a difference for Steve. He loves Bucky, damages and all.

So he shows him the way he can, through soft kisses and sweet touches, through listening and feeling to learn which touch draws a small whimper out of him and which elicits a shudder and a tightening of Bucky’s arms around Steve. He wants to learn everything, to find every touch and gesture that makes Bucky feel good. Makes him feel safe and wanted and loved. Because he is all of that.

“I would say get a room but you already have one,” comes a sharp voice from behind them.

They both flinch but it still takes a moment to rein in the kiss.

“Captain Rogers, can I have a word with you?”

Steve knows what she’s going to say. He is draped over Bucky, no mistaking that it was him who moved forward and made the advances on Bucky. Who is under his command. “No,” Steve says levelly and extracts himself from Bucky to go back to stowing away the cables, “you cannot. This is a private matter and none of your business.”

He sends Natasha a hard glare that is answered with equally harsh eyes.

“If you feel like you have to report this, do it and I will take responsibility for my actions,” Steve grinds out.

“May I remind you that Sergeant Barnes is…”

“Leave him alone, Nat.” Bucky’s voice is sharp and Steve and Nat both jump and turn to stare at him.

It’s always a bit of a gamble when Bucky gets upset. Sometimes, you get an angry James Buchanan Barnes. Sometimes, you get an angry Winter Soldier. You really want to avoid the latter.

“The rules of conduct are there for a reason,” Natasha says carefully.

“Fuck the rules of conduct,” Bucky replies heatedly. “I’ve had decades of someone else’s rules telling me what I could do. You’re not taking the one thing that I know that I want away from me now.”

The silence following that statement is deafening. _The one thing that I know that I want_.

Finally, Natasha clears her throat. “Okay,” she says. “Okay. But the minute I get the feeling something is off, you’re in trouble, Rogers.”

Steve nods. “You’ve told me that before. And I’ve accepted it. I don’t need to be reminded.”

He holds her gaze until she nods. They both know it anyway. That if he ever intentionally hurts Bucky, he will deserve everything he’s got coming.

“Want to help us with this?” Steve asks her to steer the topic away from the abyss for now.

Natasha snorts. “I might as well. Looks like it’s the only way anything is going to get done.”

 

***

**_Dean and Cas_ **

Dean never thought that shopping of all things could make his mood 10 000% better but hey, sometimes you got to be open for surprises.

“Help me with the grocery bags, _angel_?” he grins at Cas who in turn glares at him.

 “Dean! Stop mocking me!” Cas glowers.

“Oh, come on, Cas,” Dean chuckles before trying to rein in his mirth. “You got to admit that was funny.”

“It was not,” Cas pouts.

“It was,” Dean insists. “If only because I stopped you from explaining the whole thing to her. Because I know you wanted to.”

Cas had already had opened his mouth to say who knows what to the lady at the store who had flirted at him using the worst words possible when Cas handed her the cereal she couldn’t reach from the top shelf. _‘You save the day, angel!’_

“I was not going to tell her anything!” Cas protests. “I was just going to ask her how she knew! Also, I hardly saved her day by handing her a box. She needs to have higher expectations of her life.”

And that has Dean bowling over again. “God, Cas, you’re –“ cute is what Dean wants to say, but he’s already done that once and earned a death glare for it, so that’s enough.

Because no way is Dean going to let some random chick get away with flirting with his angel. So he had wrapped his arm around Cas’ waist and said in his most sugary tone, _‘He really is an angel, isn’t he? And a cute one to boot. I’m so glad I have him!’_

That had shut up both the woman and Cas. Long enough for Dean to drag Cas away anyway, before he had freed himself from Dean’s grasp with an indignant huff and said death glare. _‘I’m a warrior, Dean, I’m not cute!’_

Dean had seen it fit not to contradict that at that moment. Or now, actually, because Cas is glowering darkly again. So better not step on his angel sensibilities any more than he already has.

“Don’t we have work to do?” Cas grumbles.

“Yes, yes, we do indeed,” Dean wheezes and then stomps resolutely down on the giggles that still want to escape. “Have you ever baked before, Cas?”

“I have watched humanity bake from the dawn of time,” Cas answers gravely.

“Umm, yeah, not quite the same thing. Here. Apron.” Dean throws him the second apron he’s grabbed at the store so that Cas doesn’t ruin yet another one of his dress shirts.

Cas studies the apron with intense attention. “There’s bees on this.”

“Yes,” Dean nods and feels the slight flush creeping into his cheeks. “’Cause you like bees. I mean, we had a whole fight about how much you like them and all. With the bed sheets, I mean,” he mumbles.

Cas’ scowl lessens into something less frightening, actually he looks pretty pleased as he tries to tie the strings of the apron behind his back.

“Let me help,” Dean volunteers.

It’s embarrassing, really, how his breath hitches at the light contact when his fingers brush Cas’ as he takes the strings from his hands to wrap them around his sides and tie them in the back.

“Do you need help, too?” Cas asks once Dean is done.

Dean really doesn’t but there’s something so hopeful in Cas’ voice that he holds out his whole apron to Cas. “Sure. That’s what you got an assistant for in the kitchen after all.”

He hopes it sounds smoother out loud than it does in his head.

But Cas doesn’t seem to care either way. He takes the apron from Dean and looks it over. It’s the plain, grown-up kind and Dean for a brief moment wishes he’d gone for the _‘kiss the chef’_ one after all. Problem is, he can already see Sam running around the bunker after him making smooching noises, and Dean really doesn’t need that.

Then Cas is in front of him and Dean can’t regret whatever type of apron he got, because Cas slips the top of the apron over his head and then goes to tying it around Dean’s waist. Only where Dean had walked around Cas to achieve his goal, Cas doesn’t. Cas pushes Dean’s arms out of the way and leans his whole body into Dean to get his arms around his torso and tie the apron at his back.

And holy moly, Cas is all solid muscles and warmth, and bee aprons aren’t sexy or shouldn’t be anyway and Dean is going to need a cold shower. Judging by the extremely smug look Cas gives him when he finally steps back, Cas knows it, too.

“Umm, we, we gotta start with the crust,” Dean stammers, doing his very best to will away all thoughts of Cas pressed up against him and how easy it would have been to close his arms around him and how close his neck had been and how he could have sunk his teeth into the flesh there, not enough to break skin, just enough to suck a hickey and make sure every random woman in the supermarket knows that Cas is taken and –

“Flour. We need to mix the flour and salt,” Dean exclaims half-panicked because that train of thought leads to places he is not willing to go right now.

He all but flees out of Cas’ immediate space and reaches for the ingredients. He’s frantic enough that it’s only Cas’ quick reaction that keeps the flour bag from toppling over and spilling everywhere.

“Dean.” It’s no more than his name and a steadying hand on his arm, but it helps.

Dean takes a deep breath. “Okay. I’m okay now. Let’s get this started.”

Baking comes easy to Dean, perks of having had a steady home-base in the bunker for a while now. Why buy awful pie in the store if you have an actual kitchen to make your own? He usually shoos everyone out when he’s baking, though, citing that they’re going to make him fuck up the dough if they keep interrupting him.

Really it’s more like he doesn’t want to admit how natural it feels for him to bake. It was always his Mom who baked, his Dad never really setting a foot in the kitchen apart from getting some beer from the fridge. Dean can’t help but feel that his Dad would be disappointed in him for reveling in the way the dough comes together in his hands, the separate ingredients slowly forming one smooth mass.

With Cas, though, Dean doesn’t think he believes this is unmanly. Well, it’s not a category Cas thinks in anyway, what with him being a celestial wavelength and all. That thought gets stuck, somehow, as if it’s new, even though it’s as old as their friendship. But there’s flour in Cas’ hair where he’s run his hand through it and there’s bees on his apron and it’s hard to see him as anything but the dorky guy Dean is in love with. Huh.

“Dean? Are we missing an ingredient?”

“What? No,” Dean shakes himself out of his thoughts. “We’re good. The crust is pretty much done. It needs to be put in the form and then in the oven so that it can already bake.”

Dean makes quick work of that and nods satisfied when he sets the timer for the crust.

“Part one done, part two coming. We need the eggs next. You can help me with that. Eggs aren’t complicated as such, but we need to separate them because we need the yolk for the filling and the whites for the meringue. Can you give me two bowls?”

Cas gets two bowls from the shelf and sets them before Dean. He observes with rapt attention as Dean knocks the egg against the rim of the bowl and then carefully separates the egg without dropping any of the shell into the bowls.

“Here, your turn,” Dean pushes the eggs over to Cas.

Cas carefully takes one of them from the carton. “It seems very delicate,” he wonders while he turns it in his hand.

“You getting philosophical on me? Pondering the fragility of life or something?” Dean teases.

Cas huffs and probably to make up for the philosophical remark slams the egg against the edge of the bowl too hard.

Dean laughs out loud as the whole egg finds its way into the bowl with the egg whites. At least Cas is holding on to the shell. “Okay, okay, big guy. No need to smite the eggs. Wait, let me do this.”

Fortunately, the egg yolk didn’t break, so Dean carefully fishes it out with a spoon and brings it to the other bowl.

“Okay, let’s try this again, champ,” he encourages Cas who has gone back to scowling. “And if you smite me, you’ll have to finish this pie on your own. So better think about it before you do that,” Dean smirks.

“I have expended way too much energy on you already to smite you now, Dean Winchester,” Cas growls and yeah, that tone goes right to Dean’s nether regions.

He finds it safer not to answer, unsure that it wouldn’t be an embarrassing squeak that makes its way out of his mouth, and instead focuses on calming his breathing. Not that it works. Because Cas observes him curiously and that does nothing for Dean’s composure, either.

“Fine,” Dean grumbles, and hey, at least that wasn’t a squeak. “I’ll show you.”

He steps up behind Cas, draping himself over him. And yeah, Cas’ breath hitches at the contact as well, so at least Dean isn’t the only one affected. Dean takes it as a win and grinds his hips against Cas a little bit, even while he takes another egg out of the box and puts it in Cas’ hand.

“We’ll do it together.”

The small hairs next to Cas’ ear move with the words and Cas shivers.

“Okay?”

Cas nods, and Dean isn’t sure what he’s agreeing to, whether it’s the egg or the fact that Dean is pressing him against the kitchen counter now.

“Here, it’s done like this,” Dean puts his own hands over Cas’ and guides him into smoothly breaking the egg and then separating it.

The small task doesn’t take long to accomplish and all of sudden Dean is draped all over Cas without an excuse as to why. Which means he should step back. He should step back right now. But somehow, even while his mind screams at him to stop, he sinks his head into the tuft of Cas’ hair, pressing a quick kiss to the back of his head and enjoying the mixture of their shampoo and the flour that Cas’ hair smells like.

“Dean?”

His rational mind finally, five minutes too late, wins the upper hand again and Dean manages to take a slightly panicked step back. “Oh fuck, Cas, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t… I wasn’t…” But he’s not even really sure what he shouldn’t or wasn’t.

“What are we, Dean?” Cas asks.

“What?” Dean’s mind comes to a screeching halt.

“We were friends,” Cas says. “But then we kissed.”

“Yeah?” Dean stutters.

“Actually, we made out?” Cas continues, though he makes it sound like a question. “Which indicates sexual interest. I know that you are sexually interested in many people, though.”

“I – umm, what?” His mind is not really good at rebooting while Cas keeps using words like _sexually interested_.

“Dean, you have slept with many people over the years,” Cas says sternly. “Usually not more than once.”

And that’s undoubtedly true, but what the hell? “Are you slut-shaming me, Cas?” he asks bewildered.

Cas rolls his eyes. “Don’t be dense, Dean. I’m merely trying to figure this out.”

“Figure what out?”

“What we are to each other now!” Cas half-shouts.

And oh.

“Because I do not want to be one of your conquests for one night.”

“Cas, you…” Dean would laugh if all of this wasn’t so sad. “Cas, you aren’t. You could never be… They mean nothing! You, you mean – “ _everything_. But how can he say that? “Cas, you’re still my friend. You’ll always be my friend. We’re just -,” Boyfriends? Lovers? Partners?, “something more as well, okay?”

“Something more?” Cas asks dubiously.

“Yes,” Dean nods empathically. “Something more.”

Cas ponders that for a moment. “Something more means I can kiss you?”

Dean thinks his heart might beat right out of his chest. “Yeah, Cas. Definitely. Something more definitely means that.”

Cas smiles then and draws Dean in by his apron to plant a big, slightly floury kiss on Dean’s lips and Dean thinks it might not be a Jinn dream after all, because it’s just too perfect. He has probably died and gone to Heaven.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's hard to be an effective hunter when there's pie and kisses.

**_Steve and Bucky_ **

Steve’s staring. Has been for the better part of the past two hours he guesses. Bucky is following everything Natasha’s doing on her notebook intently, and he gets this very steep line between his eyes when he frowns. It smoothes out again when he finally gets it. Until the next question pops up, anyway.

Steve is content learning to read Bucky instead of trying to figure out what Nat is doing, but he guesses you can only stare so long before you count as a creep. So he mobilizes his technical knowledge and manages to snap a picture of Nat and Bucky hunched over the computer. And that would probably still be kind of creepy if it wasn’t for the fact that his two favorite spies and assassins of course completely notice that he’s snapping a picture. 

“Steve, behave,” Natasha comments without even looking up from her notebook.

Just to spite her, Steve attaches the picture to an email and sends it to Clint.

“You’re aware that I could block that email, right?” Natasha asks with raised eyebrows. She turns the notebook enough that he can read the notification about an email sent from Steve’s account to Clint’s account that has popped up on her screen.

“But if you block it, we won’t get a dog picture back.”

Because if there’s one thing that’s reliable about Clint, it’s that he steadfastly answers any email with a picture of his dog.

Steve might be imagining it, but he thinks Natasha’s eyes soften at the mention of Pizza Dog. Interesting. He files it away for later use.

Natasha shrugs. “Clint’s currently not in the US. The other Hawkeye has the dog.”

“Not in the US? Could you have gotten any more vague,” Steve snorts.

“We could have taken Lucky. That would have made the suburban undercover thing perfect,” Bucky muses.

Natasha laughs. “Like Clint would trust the recently thawed with his dog. Right.”

But Steve’s hearing something else. “Would you like to have a dog, Buck?”

Bucky shrugs, but there’s slight color in his cheeks. “Maybe?”

Considering the aversion to any expression of what he wants Bucky’s been showing, that’s about as good as a screaming yes.

“Stark’s got a policy about animals in the Avengers’ Tower,” Nat says. “Something about innocent beings getting caught in the crossfire. So consider yourself warned.”

“Who says we’re going to live in the Avengers’ Tower forever?” Steve shrugs.

He doesn’t even really notice what he’s said until he feels Bucky’s gaze burning a hole through him. And yeah, he has just pretty much assumed Bucky would be willing to move in with him for real, huh?

Fortunately, the doorbell saves him from the awkward conversation that was sure to follow this.

“I’ll get it,” he jumps up off the ground.

“You expecting anyone?” Natasha holds him back.

“It was you who said we were going to get a visitor.”

Natasha shakes her head. “It’s too early to be her. She’s going to need at least another half day.”

“Well, then I guess I’ll have to open the door to find out who it is,” Steve rolls his eyes.

“I’ll give you cover.”

“Natasha, please!”

“Safety protocol,” she reminds him.

And he’s got no choice here, so he might as well go with it. Especially since the doorbell is already ringing again.

“Coming, coming,” Steve shouts and rips open the door.

It’s their neighbors. With a big plate of -

“Cake?” Steve asks in lieu of a hello.

“Pie, dude, pie!” Dean growls and all but shoves the pie into Steve’s hands. “We brought you pie. Cause that’s the kind of awesome neighbors we are.”

“Uhh,” Steve says, slightly stunned, “please come in?”

Dean shoots a smug smile back to his partner and walks past Steve into the house.

“Excuse him, please,” Castiel sighs when he walks up to Steve. “He gets like this when there’s pie.”

“Oh, it’s all good,” Steve says confused. “Wait, you’ve got -,” he balances the pie in one hand so that he can run a hand through Castiel’s hair where there is some flour stuck to the tresses.

“Oh, umm, thanks.” Castiel self-consciously pats his hair. “Baking is quite intense.”

Someone is clearing their throat loudly behind them and when Steve turns, he’s looking into three faces with similar expressions of displeasure.

“What?” he asks somewhat annoyed but doesn’t get an answer from anyone.

“We should probably - the pie,” Castiel mumbles and Steve is grateful for the backup.

“Yes, of course. Let’s bring it to the kitchen and cut it up to eat.”

“I’ll do that,” Bucky interferes and takes the pie out of Steve’s hand. “You can still come if you’re actually interested in the _pie_ ,” he adds in Castiel’s direction, the challenge open in his eyes.

“Boys,” Natasha says calmly. “Play nice.” Then she turns to Dean. “Should we sit out on the terrace? The weather is nice for that today.”

“Sure,” Dean nods, but there’s something calculating in his eyes.

Natasha leads them through the living room, no technical gadgets apart from her notebook in sight. Dean side-eyes the notebook, too. He covers it quickly by pretending to have a general interest in the layout of the rooms, nodding and umming at the various differences between their houses as he points them out to Natasha. But Steve is sure that Dean would love to get his hands on Nat’s computer.

“Can I leave you guys alone for a second?” Nat asks as soon as they’re seated outside. “Got to take care of some female business real quick.”

_Public displays of affection make people uncomfortable._

It’s the same effect. She mentions _female business_ and Dean’s smile becomes forced, his eyes suddenly drifting.

“Sure,” Steve nods.

“Yeah, sure,” Dean echoes.

Natasha smiles a winning smile and disappears back into the house, no doubt to get her notebook far out of reach of grabby hands.

For a long moment, they sit in silence. Where talking to Castiel is easy, talking to Dean is not. It doesn’t help that Dean is suspicious of them to begin with. There just isn’t a single topic of conversation that comes to Steve’s mind. He wishes to God that Bucky and Castiel would hurry up and save them from the awkwardness.

 

***

**_Dean and Cas_ **

This is not good. All of this is not good. It was a good idea, coming over to sniff out the neighbors, Dean is sure of that. But being here with Cas is different than going to interview suspects with Sam. With Sam, Dean wouldn’t have a problem with getting separated. Worst case scenario: He’s going to find his brother tied to a chair somewhere. Sam seems to have a penchant for that. Worst case scenario right now? That he’s going to find Bucky having Cas pressed up against the kitchen counter and snogging him. He seems the type who can wriggle his way into anyone’s pants if he sets his mind to it.

And for all of his soldier of God deal, Cas is a frikking innocent in this regard. The very few sexual encounters he’s had over the time Dean has known him being a point in case. They all exploited Cas’ innocence. And Dean will be damned if he lets that happen again.

“Wanna check up on them?” He growls and knows he sounds possessive as all hell.

Steve looks torn at the prospect. “I’m sure they can handle the pie,” he says haltingly.

“Yeah,” Dean grits out, “the _pie_. That’s all they’re handling. I’m sure.”

Steve sends him a hard look, but then he suddenly blushes and runs a hand through his hair. “Gosh, look at us,” he chuckles self-consciously, “not even wanting to let them out of our sight for a few minutes, when they’re both warriors. It’s a bit ridiculous really.”

Dean narrows his eyes at Steve. He doesn’t like it when people make fun of his worries. But then of course, Steve is also making fun of his own worries. Because he’s been checking back towards the door as well. So Dean nods jerkily. “In my experience, when I leave him alone, bad things happen.”

That transforms Steve’s whole face. He goes from embarrassed and open to worried and calculating. “What kind of bad things?” he asks.

It’s a tone Dean knows. It’s the tone he uses when he asks a suspect about some monster. He frowns. “The kind that happen _to_ Cas,” he emphasizes.

“Oh,” Steve tracks back. “Well, in that case, no need to worry. Bucky is one of the good guys.”

“If you say so.” Dean doesn’t even try to keep the suspicion out his voice, he just stares intently at Steve, trying not to miss any even subtle reaction.

What he gets, though, is no more than a hardening of Steve’s eyes and jaw, and a “Yes, I say so.”

Not the reaction of someone lying. The reaction of someone ready to fight for a loved one. Dean should know. He sees the same expression in the mirror. Thing is, Dean has also been blinded by the fact that he loved someone. Hasn’t seen it when Sam went behind his back and got himself addicted to demon blood. Hasn’t seen it when Cas worked with Crowley to open Purgatory. Has been blind to signs everyone around him saw clearly. There is no telling whether Steve’s not fallen into the same trap. But then, he can’t really tell Steve any of this. Just cause he has a ridiculously trustworthy face doesn’t mean he should actually be trusted.

Dean lets it slide for now, there is no point in pressing the topic and making Steve even more defensive. Not if they still want more information from their neighbors. “Okay,” Dean says flatly.

“You don’t trust easily, do you?” Steve says, his expression suddenly much more good-natured again.

It takes Dean by surprise. He thought he’d done a pretty good job at being a jovial neighbor. Not giving the impression of having trust issues in general. Which he obviously has. Not that that’s surprising in his line of work.

“That obvious, huh?” Dean laughs and tries to play it off as not that big of a thing.

Steve shrugs. “We all got our issues. War changes you. Believe me, I have ample experience.”

Dean isn’t sure whether the snort at the end of that is derisive or not. But yeah, there is no doubt that Steve is right about that. Even though they’re talking about a different kind of war.

“You knew each other before, though. We never did. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I believe in fighting for what’s right. In kicking the monsters in the ass. But sometimes, sometimes I wish… Never mind,” Dean shakes his head. He’s got no idea why he’s telling Steve all of this anyway. Must be that goddamn trustworthy face.

“You wish that he’d have seen you undamaged? And you him?” Steve asks.

“Something like that, yeah,” Dean admits. He has to clear his throat for his voice to keep steady. “Though I doubt that he’d - Cas, if I had met him before - before he had the crack in his chassis - he wouldn’t have looked at me twice.”

Steve looks away from him then, out into the garden. “I know the feeling.”

Dean shakes his head. “But you met as children!”

“Yeah,” Steve nods. “But we never talked about - not until after we also already had ‘a crack in our chassis’. And sometimes I wonder whether…” He breaks off.

“Whether it’s the crack that makes him love you?” Dean says in sudden inspiration.

“Yes,” Steve nods. He gives Dean a small crooked smile. “But if it is so, I really don’t want to know. I’m too weak to let him go. I’m going to grab onto him with both hands for as long as he lets me.”

That actually sounds like a pretty solid plan to Dean. But before he can answer, the door to the house opens and Cas and Bucky come back out.

“Nat had a thing,” Bucky announces while he’s shoving one of the plates he’s carrying at Steve.

“A thing?” Steve asks with raised eyebrows.

Bucky shrugs and plants himself on the floor next to Steve’s knees. “You know her. She got a thing, I don’t ask.”

“We can get a fourth chair from the kitchen,” Cas supplies helpfully and hands both of his plates to Dean to go do just that.

“Nah, leave it, man, it’s all good. Steve is quite comfortable as a pillow.” He leans back against Steve’s legs to prove his point.

The jealousy at how open their neighbors are with their touches is instant. But it’s not like Dean isn’t allowed to touch Cas, is it? They’re _something more_ after all and yeah, Dean possibly chickened out of the word _boyfriends_ because it sounds way weird to have a boyfriend and to have that boyfriend also be his best friend and an ex-angel on top.

Doesn’t mean he can’t hook his ankle around the leg of the third chair and draw it closer to his own. “Come on, Cas, sit.”

Gets him a weird look but no resistance which is good enough for Dean.

There’s a small amused smile on Steve’s face, so he’s totally noticed the gesture. Dean blushes but he also shrugs. Holding on with both hands. It seems like a good plan.

 

***

**_Steve and Bucky_ **

“So you two seem to get along fine,” Bucky comments, obviously noticing the silent little conversation between Dean and Steve.

“Well, yeah, we were talking about,” but there’s no lie coming up handy in Steve’s brain, so he shrugs and tells the truth, “talking about the two of you actually.”

That makes eyebrows rise on both sides of their porch. “You were?”

“We were talking only the best, of course,” Steve quickly adds.

“Right,” Bucky answers, rolling the _r_ longer than strictly necessary.

“What about you two?” Steve decides to defend via attack. “Took you a while to cut the cake.”

“Pie,” Dean interjects.

“Pie,” Steve corrects himself.

“We were talking about the historical significance of marriage,” Castiel says.

And sends Dean into a coughing fit when a piece of said _pie_ gets stuck in his throat. “You - what?”

“It is an interesting topic, Dean,” Castiel goes on. “Did you know that common law marriages were the norm in ancient Greece and Rome? Marriage was seen as an agreement between individuals and families with no consequence for the church or state. So the fact that a couple  cohabitated and were recognized as being together by their peers legalized a marriage.”

“I’m with the ancient Greeks here,” Bucky nods. “Don’t know why the state should have a say in who I get to marry. Or the church for that matter.”

And that’s a bit of a heavy topic for some afternoon pie with the neighbors, but still. “What about, uh, God?” Steve asks because it comes to mind but he’s not even sure Bucky still believes in God. Isn’t sure anyone who has had everything that happened to Bucky happen to them can.

“I think we have firmly established that God isn’t taking an active role in this world’s fate anymore,” Castiel says darkly. “So I wouldn’t give too much weight to Their opinion.”

“Cas,” Dean’s face has gone worried. “That’s not true. You know it’s not true. You know He resur-” Dean breaks off. “Umm, what I mean is, I’m pretty sure God has a protecting hand over you. Or something.”

“It’s always one of us, who has faith,” Castiel says and smiles, though there is a sadness in the smile, too, the reason for which Steve is not privy to. Some sort of history between the two.

“Shut up, Cas. You’re fine the way you are, faith or no faith,” Dean says and bumps Cas’ shoulder.

It feels like a private moment, so Steve averts his eyes. And looks right into Bucky looking up at him. Bucky’s got his lower lip caught between his teeth, absentmindedly chewing on it. Steve can’t help that his eyes are drawn to it before they flicker back up to meet Bucky’s eyes.

“So, you talked about marriage, huh?” He says quietly, and feels a little faint at the word.

Bucky’s eyes turn grey and cloudy. “You’ve wanted to get married before. With Peggy.”

Peggy? Steve had so not been thinking about marrying Peggy in, well, 70 years or so.

“Buck,” but Steve doesn’t actually have any idea how to explain this. How to explain that what he and Peggy had had was different from what he and Bucky had. And that if there had been a possibility to be with Bucky back then, to marry him, he’d never have Peggy get close enough for the question to come up.

“It’s okay, Steve. It’s okay,” Bucky says but his smile is too soft and he lets his bangs fall over his eyes to hide his expression behind them.

“No, Buck, no it’s not,” Steve says and his hand is on Bucky’s shoulder to make him look back up before he thinks about it. Before he remembers that Bucky gets triggered by unexpected or hard touches. “Fuck, sorry.” He lets go.

But Bucky looks back up at him anyway, through his lashes and all his hair.

Steve’s more careful this time, gives Bucky the moment he needs to see what he is doing, before Steve brushes the hair out of Bucky’s face, pushes it back behind Bucky’s ears and cups his face. “I’ve always loved you, okay? Ever since I met you when I was 12. Understood?”

Bucky searches his face, searches for the truth in his words. And Steve’s got to remember that, that Bucky right now mostly has his gut feeling to go on. He doesn’t have the memories Steve has.

“This,” he presses a quick kiss to Bucky’s lips to illustrate his point, “I never thought I was going to be allowed to have it. To have you. I’m terrified of thinking about the future because I’m terrified to lose you again.” And Bucky’s not made that easier with his talk of Steve maybe having to take him out.

For a long moment, Bucky looks at him silently. There are no empty promises of _you’ll never lose me_. There are no demands for Steve to make his stance on marriage more clear. Instead, Bucky takes Steve’s plate out of his hands and puts it on the wood next to his own. Steve lets his hands sink away from Bucky’s face when he moves, but Bucky catches them again. He nudges Steve’s legs apart so that he can come closer and stretches up on his knees, puts Steve’s hands back on his face and lets his eyes drop to Steve’s lips, before he looks up again, the question clear in his eyes.

For a heartbeat, Steve wishes Bucky would just take what he wants. But then he notices that this is what Bucky wants and he’s making it clear that he wants it and Steve’s got the ability to give it to him. So he lets his hands glide further back on Bucky’s head, draws him closer and closes the last few inches between them.

Bucky’s hands find their way into Steve’s shirt and hold fast.

He intends it to be a gentle kiss, soft and tasting slightly of lemon because of the pie. But the talk of losing Bucky is still heavy in his heart, and it gives the kiss an urgency that he hasn’t planned. A need to hold on and never let go. To never let Bucky slip through his fingers again, never let him fall.

“I’ll catch you. From now on, I’m always going to catch you. I’m never going to let you fall.”

He has no way of actually making good on this promise. He knows it. But he has to give it anyway. Has to give words to what is in his heart.

Bucky doesn’t answer. Instead, he opens his mouth and invites Steve to deepen the kiss. To share their heat, and hold on even deeper. And Steve doesn’t have to be asked twice.

 

***

**_Dean and Cas_ **

It’s the noises that make Dean look away from Cas eventually. There’s kissing. Of the hungry wolf kind.

“Umm,” Dean says intelligently.

Cas follows his gaze and his eyes get stuck the same sight.

It’s like Bucky’s trying his best to melt into his boyfriend, to be swallowed up whole. It should be terrifying, this amount of abandon. If there wasn’t Steve’s hand on Bucky’s neck, solid and firm, holding him, grounding him, keeping him safe.

Dean swallows heavily. Yeah, he’s totally not imagining himself in the same position here.

He risks another look over at Cas, who is still staring. Like he’s cataloguing each and every of their neighbor’s movements. Maybe he is. Dean kind of hopes he is.

He drags his eyes away from Cas to look back at their neighbors, because watching Bucky fall into the kiss is easier than watching Cas, who Dean is still very aware has only fallen because of him. And not just something mushy like fallen in love, no, fallen from Heaven and Grace and everything.

And still. Dean can’t help but imagine Cas in Steve’s place. Holding Dean up, keeping him safe. There’s very few people Dean trusts implicitly. That he would give the reins to and feel safe doing it. Cas has always been one of them, betrayals over the years notwithstanding.

Dean’s never sure whether that’s a good thing. It’s felt a few times like he was setting himself up for destruction. Cas’ power is diminished now, he couldn’t kill him with a snap of his fingers like when his angel batteries were fully charged. He’s been ready for Cas to kill him twice already. One time, a very long time ago, in a dirty alleyway during the apocalypse. The second time in a crypt looking for the angel tablet. He could have fought back. Both times. Maybe not very successfully, but he could have. He’s fought against what feels like every goddamn other angel in the garrison.

Just not Cas. Because it’s Cas. And Dean’s pretty sure that it’s completely screwed up but his trust in Cas doesn’t even stop at Cas almost killing him. He’s given himself over even in those moments.

Dean grimaces because, fuck, it’s only him who could equal _you’ve tried to kill me before_ with _my mouth gets kind of dry when I think about you being in charge_ , but fortunately a sudden chirping in his pocket breaks this particular train of thought.

“Uhh, sorry,” he apologizes to no one in particular and takes the phone out to look at the caller ID.

“Sam?” Cas asks, though his voice seems somewhat huskier than normal.

Dean watches him intently for a moment. Cas is affected by their neighbors’ display as well, he’d bet on it. Question is, did he imagine himself as Steve or Bucky? Dean’s so got to find a way to ask him.

The insistent ringing brings him back to the present.

“Uh, yeah,” Dean sighs and hits the green button. “What’s up, bitchface?”

“Where the hell are you? I’ve been trying the landline like three times”, Sam growls.

“What’d you try the landline for anyway?” Dean deflects because he’s got a feeling he’s got some bitching out coming as soon as Sam puts two and two together.  

“You’re at your neighbors’.”

There is not even a question there, just a quiet resignation that sits very wrong with Dean. He’s not incompetent, and that disappointed tone is all John Winchester and, God, he wishes Sam was a little less like their father sometimes.

“You in town already?” Dean asks and hates the way his voice shifts into something meek.

“About half an hour out.” There is no particular inflection in Sam’s voice.

“Okay, we’ll make sure to be home by then.”

“Yeah, okay. Be careful, Dean.” And that sounds decidedly like Dad again.

“Always am, Sammy,” Dean sighs and quickly hangs up.

“Is everything alright?” Steve asks with a worried face.

So, Sam’s officially managed to kill the mood for everyone. Great.

“Yeah, yeah, it’s fine. My brother’s coming to visit. That’s all.”

“Didn’t he just leave?” Bucky inquires with a frown.

Smooth, Winchester, smooth. Dean tries to frantically think of an excuse of what brings Sam back already.

“He got a dog. From a shelter. He wants us to meet him,” Cas saves him.

“Oh, you gotta bring the two of them by then,” Natasha says from where she’s suddenly showed up in the doorway, “my boys have just said this morning how much they’d like a dog.”

“ _Your_ boys?” Cas asks with raised eyebrows.

“Figure of speech,” Natasha smirks. “Though I do feel responsible for them. Did they behave?”

There’s a lot of blushing going on then, and if Dean wasn’t still so uncomfortable from the call with Sam, he’d be smirking as well. As it is, he nods curtly. “I’m sorry we’ll have to cut this short, but we got to get back.” He really is sorry, too, if mainly because they haven’t found a single piece of useful information. He’s not even had a chance to excuse himself to go to the bathroom and maybe check out that notebook in the living-room. But it’s too late now.

“No worries,” Natasha smiles. “Better make sure all the food is packed away and that there are no shoes out for the dog to chew on.”

Dean chuckles, but he even he can hear how forced it sounds. “And here I thought you meant pack the food away before my Sasquatch brother arrives. But I guess yeah, the dog is a danger to the food supply as well,” he answers and gets up, making everyone else get up, too.

“Do you want to take the rest of the pie home?” Steve asks.

“No, it’s fine,” Cas answers in Dean’s stead.

Dean has little choice but to smile and agree with him, even though it is a good pie and maybe he’d like to eat the rest of it.

“Natasha said, we’d have to come by so you can meet the dog anyway, right? So we can eat the rest of it together,” Cas says pleasantly.

And oh, that’s actually good thinking, giving them an excuse to come back.

“We’re looking forward to it,” Steve smiles.

A tiny spark of jealousy immediately flares at Steve looking for all the world like he’s actually looking forward to seeing Cas again, but fortunately he also still has his arm tightly slung around Bucky’s waist and Dean can smuggle his hand back into Cas’, so Dean will grant him this one.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First reveals. Also a dog.

**_Steve and Bucky_ **

“Peculiar,” Steve remarks while they’re watching Cas and Dean retreat through the garden to their own house.

“Actually, things seem to be clearing up a bit,” Nat replies.

And that doesn’t sound good. “What did you do?” Steve demands.

Natasha shrugs. “Used the good fortune that you distracted them to do some digging.”

“You broke into their house?” Steve asks horrified.

“Not technically. They didn’t lock it very well. It was much harder to get into the guy’s car.”

Steve groans. “They’re our neighbors! We can do this without breaking and entering.”

“I got bored. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m the only one who’s not got anyone to make heart-eyes at.”

“That’s because you don’t want any romance!” Steve says frustrated.

“Valid point,” Natasha nods amiably, “I still got bored. So are we going to argue my love life or do you want to hear what I found?”

“What did you find?” Steve gives in with a sigh.

“Exactly what I expected. Weapons. Many, many weapons. Not of the assault rifle kind, either. More of the shotgun and rock salt and silver knives and holy water kind.”

“What?” Steve asks dumbfounded.

“I had a feeling,” Natasha gives a nonchalant shrug. “What with the shit I found on their hard-drive and the fact whose code they were using.”

Steve rubs at his face. Nat being mysterious is giving him a headache. “Feel like sharing with the rest of the class?”

Nat’s got the gall to laugh. “You’d have figured it out as well if you ever read the memos SHIELD sends around.”

“If I want a newsletter subscription, it’ll be something useful. Like recipes, not spy news incorporated,” Steve grouses and rather doesn’t admit that he’s set the SHIELD memos to end up in his spam folder. Though it is a point of pride to him that he managed that. He’s getting better at this whole technology thing.

“It’s all good, old man,” Nat pats him on the back. “They’re hunters, that’s all.”

“Hunters?” Bucky asks, steep frown indicating that it doesn’t tell him anything, either. “Like deer and shit?”

Nat gives him her patented _don’t be daft_ look before she pointedly replies, “They hunt the supernatural. They’re not half bad at it, either, if my guess at who they are is right.”

“Who are they then?” Steve asks and hopes they’re getting anywhere with these revelations.

“The Winchester brothers, I think,” Nat says like it’s supposed to impress him.

“So you’re saying I should know them?” he grumbles.

Nat watches him silently and slightly disapprovingly for a moment, then she shrugs. “Well, you would’ve been on the bottom of the ocean still, so I guess you might be forgiven for not knowing that there was an apocalypse centered around them. It was quite the buzz. Not SHIELD’s proudest moment.”

“An apocalypse?” Steve asks and feels kind of faint.

“Obviously it didn’t happen,” Nat reassuringly pats him on the shoulder.

“Obviously,” Steve echoes.

 

***

**_Dean and Cas_ **

They have barely managed to clean up the explosion of flour in the kitchen when a car rumbles into their drive-way.

“Here we go, then,” Dean mumbles and throws the dish rag into the sink. He hates the feeling of dread that the lecture that he’s got coming already gives him.

“Dean,” Cas’ hand is immediately on his back, warm and soothing.

He appreciates the gesture even though it does very little to settle his nerves. “Thanks, Cas.”

He gives him a fleeting smile and goes to open the door.

They stay at the door while Sam climbs out of the pickup truck and then while he opens the passenger door to let out - what was his name again? It’s a fur-ball, a giant one, and he’s excitedly yapping around Sam, not letting him out of his sight.

“A Golden Retriever,” Cas says from next to Dean, “good choice.”

Dean couldn’t care less, but he nods anyway. How does Cas even know all this useless information like dog breeds? But then, he’s always been kind of a nerd, even back when he was a full-powered angel. Also, he’d had a few millennia to acquire trivia knowledge.

“Come on, Simpson,” Sam whistles once and the dog is immediately at his heel.

And okay, that’s kind of impressive actually.

“Hi Dean, Cas,” Sam greets as soon as he’s coming up to them.

“Hi Sam,” Cas answers and his voice sounds lower than normal. Lower as in, coming from below. Where he’s crouching and holding his hand out for the dog to sniff. “Hi there, Simpson.”

Nerds, all of them.

Then Cas pokes him in the shin. “Don’t be a grouch, Dean. Say Hi to Simpson.”

Dean rolls his eyes, because seriously? But it’s not like he’s ever had much resistance against any of Cas’ wishes, so he hunkers down as well and mirrors Cas’ gesture. Simpson sniffs at his hand and then rubs his head against his fingers. Dean takes it as a demand for pets and scratches the dog’s ears. “Jesus, you have a lot of fur.”

“Golden Retrievers are supposed to have a thick, slightly wavy coat,” Sam informs him.

“No kidding,” Dean mutters, but somehow his other hand is scratching Simpson’s other ear now and he has to brace himself on his knees because the dog is pushing into him with his whole weight.

“He likes you,” Cas observes and there’s a smile in his voice.

“Well, at least I’m not allergic to him,” Dean grumbles because if this was a cat he’d already be sneezing all over the place.

“Dean,” Cas says softly, and damn Cas and his stupid way of saying Dean’s name like just saying it will make him reveal the secrets of the world.

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean gives in because he’s never found a way not to give in to that. “Maybe he’s kind of cool. We just met, I can’t really know yet, can I?”

“You knew with me,” Cas smirks.

“Dude, I stabbed you through the chest.”

“Not actually our first meeting, Dean,” Cas reminds him. “Even if you don’t remember the other one.”

“You going to tell me?” Dean asks.

“No,” Cas shakes his head.

“It’s possibly not the best topic to be talking about out on the street anyway?” Sam bitches and, oh yeah, Sam’s still pissed. Dean almost forgot.

“Mi casa es su casa or whatever,” Dean says and gets up to let Sam and the dog pass him.

“Nuestra casa es su casa,” Cas corrects with a smile.

“Language nerd,” Dean rolls his eyes fondly and bumps Cas in the shoulder.

“Are you coming?” Sam asks exasperatedly from inside.

“Could you try to be any more annoying?” Dean mutters, but it’s obviously not quiet enough because Sam turns back around to him and his bitchface has intensified a hundredfold.

“I’m annoying? _I’m annoying_? That’s your problem here? While you go out and purposely endanger yourself?”

“Sam, this is not even halfway as bad as you make it out to be.”

“Isn’t it? Dean, you’ve been the one being suspicious of your neighbors all along and now that we’re actually _sure_ that they’re dangerous, you just go out there without backup?”

“I had backup,” Dean says indignantly.

“Yeah, no offense, but the recently fallen do not count. Cas means well but he’s not really of much help right now.”

“Hey!” Dean interrupts. “That’s complete bullshit and you know it. Cas got knowledge that you and I can only dream of having. He’s probably the most useful of all of us. Your stupid dog included.”

And okay that was a low blow but what the hell is Sam’s problem talking about Cas like he’s useless?

“I’d appreciate it if you didn’t talk about me like I wasn’t here,” Cas says quietly, though no less angry for it. “Unless you want me to go until you have sorted this out?”

“No, Cas, sorry, of course not,” Dean answers at the same time that Sam replies, “Yes, maybe that would be best.”

There is a drawn-out moment of silence after that.

Then Dean repeats, “Don’t go, Cas. Please. You’re 100% a member of the team. Sam’s got no right to throw you out.” He glares at Sam for good measure.

Sam throws his hands up in the air. “Whatever. The important thing is that I told you! I literally said you shouldn’t go over there! And what is the first thing you do? You go over there. Seriously, Dean? What the hell were you thinking?”

Dean presses his lips together so hard that it hurts. It’s a rant that he’s heard word for word before. “You done?” he bites out.

“Come on, Dean! This is not a game!” Sam shouts.

“It’s not,” Dean nods, suddenly icy calm. “So stop pretending that you’re Dad.”

The silence that follows it is deafening. Dean crosses his arms over his chest and keeps his eyes on his brother, the challenge clear in his stance.

It takes a long moment, but then the tension goes out of Sam. It’s like he literally deflates as his stance slackens. But it wouldn’t be them if they actually talked about this, so Dean’s not even surprised when all that Sam says is, “At least tell me that you found something.”

Dean’s about to admit that the whole thing for all its dangers was a total bust when Cas says, “There’s something peculiar about them. It’s - I’ve felt it from the beginning but my senses are severely diminished right now. But it’s like - like they’re much older than they look.”

“Like vampires?” Dean asks.

“No,” Cas shakes his head. “More like they fell out of their own time and only recently arrived here. Steve seems to get very confused by modern things, but he has a - sort of physical knowledge of older things. In a way, it reminds me of - me,” he finishes hesitantly.

“Pretty sure Steve’s not an angel,” Dean huffs.

“That’s not what I meant, Dean,” Cas frowns.

“You sure?” Dean scowls.

“You have no reason to be jealous of Steve, Dean,” Cas chastises.

“To be - what?” Sam interferes.

And okay, this is decidedly getting too much for Dean. “Does anyone else need a beer?” He asks roughly and pushes his way past everyone else. When the dog follows him, he adds, “It’s water for you, Simpson. I don’t care if you’ve got a fake ID saying you’re 21.”

 

***

**_Steve and Bucky_ **

Steve’s on an impromptu early evening run when he sees a lanky man with a shaggy blonde dog walking down the street in front of him. He recognizes the man as Sam, Dean’s brother. So the thing about the dog was not an excuse then. Who’d have thought.

He slows his pace until he comes to walk next to the man. “Hi,” he gives him a friendly greeting.

The man flinches, though he suppresses it quickly.

“Deep in thought, huh? I’m Steve, your brother’s neighbor. We’ve met?”

“Yes, yes of course. Nice to meet you again,” Sam says quickly.

“You, too,” Steve answers and tries to be unobtrusive about appraising Sam.

The fact that their neighbors are monster hunters has left Steve a little rattled. Not that he’s not hunting monsters quite often, but he remembers the way Dean had been suspicious of them from the beginning and the way he’d asked about Bucky’s arm and it leaves a bad taste in his mouth. He can’t shake the feeling that in this scenario, he and Bucky are supposed to be the monsters.

“Good looking dog,” he says instead. “What’s his name?”

“Simpson,” Sam answers. “After Alan, not OJ.”

“Sorry, no idea,” Steve shakes his head.

“Oh, Alan Simpson’s a politician. Or was. He’s over 80 now. Definitely a better guy than OJ.”

“Ah,” Steve hums politely and doesn’t know what else to say, especially when Sam looks at him expectantly. “I’m not all that good with names, sorry.”

“You don’t know OJ Simpson?” Sam asks curiously.

“Uhh.” It’s not the first time that this has happened, that Steve doesn’t know something that should be common knowledge, but this time it feels more dangerous than normally. “So how does Dean get along with Simpson? He didn’t seem all that enthusiastic about a dog,” Steve deflects.

Sam snorts a surprised laugh. “He told you that, huh? Figures. He’s doing his best not to admit that he likes the dog. Oh, gimme a sec.”

Sam gets his buzzing phone out of his pocket and swipes over the screen. His whole face lights up at the caller ID.

“Uh, could you do me a favor?” he asks Steve and holds out the leash.

“Sure,” Steve smiles.

“Thanks. It’s a little - complicated, otherwise.” Sam stops, plugs earphones in, and puts the phone on a little wall that they’ve just been passing, before swiping at the screen again, a wide smile already blooming on his face.

Steve is taken aback for a moment when Sam’s “Hi” is accompanied by a quick touch to his chin, but then he gets it.

Not _gets it_ as in _understands it_ but he’s seen Natasha and Clint communicate like this, it always being easier for Clint when he doesn’t have to concentrate on his hearing aids.

Seeing that he can’t actually listen in, he observes Sam interestedly while Simpson patiently waits and only sniffs around the wall a little. It’s intricate, the gestures and expressions flowing into each other, even though every so often there is a pause in the flow as if Sam is looking for the right words. Steve’s immediately fascinated. He decides on the spot that he should try to learn some sign language as well, for Clint’s benefit but also because he remembers how it was when his hearing was sub-par. Frankly, it sucked. So if he can make someone more comfortable by knowing their language, he should make the effort.

Sam’s bright smile has dimmed down some by now and he shoots a worried glance or two at Steve, before shaking his head at his screen again. “I can’t, Eileen,” he says, even while he keeps signing.

Steve doesn’t need to know the sign for _I’m sorry_ to see that this is what Sam is saying.

There is a bit more back and forth and then the smile comes back to Sam’s face and he starts nodding enthusiastically. “On the way back, yes, I can do that. I’ll tell Dean as soon as I’m back at the house. I’ll let you know, okay?” His smile gets softer at whatever follows that and then he nods again. “Yeah, I’ve been missing you, too,” he says quietly before he first points at himself, then lays his hands over his heart and finally points at the screen. “I’ll see you soon.” There’s a wistful moment after Sam ends the phone call. Then he clears his throat. “Uh, sorry for this. But thanks for holding him.”

“Your girlfriend?” Steve asks.

“Umm, yeah,” Sam mumbles shyly and takes back Simpson’s leash, “We’ve been together for a bit now. It’s just that, uhh, my brother doesn’t know yet? So, if you could - not tell him for now?”

That puzzles Steve. Everything that Nat has found out about the Winchesters has indicated that they are close. “Do you fear that he wouldn’t approve?”

“It’s complicated,” Sam smiles somewhat forcedly.

Steve can tell that he should let this topic go, it being none of his business, so he nods and says with a friendly smile, “I can’t imagine that he’d react badly. I mean, he is so in love with Castiel, I cannot believe that he wouldn’t want the same happiness for you.”

That seems to be the right thing to say, because Sam’s suddenly smiling again. “He is, isn’t he? Head over heels in love with Cas?”

Steve raises his eyebrows because that sounds almost like Sam means it as an actual question. “You had doubts?” he asks.

“No,” Sam laughs, “no, not really. It’s just that Dean - he’s Dean. He pretends to be more butch than he is. Oh God, please don’t tell him I said that. He’s going to kill me.”

“I promise I won’t,” Steve laughs.

“Thanks. You’re a lifesaver.” Then Sam gestures vaguely back towards the houses. “Alright, I guess I should…”

“Yeah, I should finish my run as well,” Steve agrees. “I’ll see you around?”

“Likely,” Sam nods.

“Well, I’ll see you, then.” Steve waves goodbye and starts off at a light jog again.

It’s probably not a good idea to even think this way, but Steve thinks he could get to actually like the Winchesters, given enough time and some clearing up of intent on all sides. They might be valuable assets to have. He sighs. This is threat assessment, not a recruiting mission, and he doubts that Fury would be happy about having plaid-wearing, pie-baking hunters on his team anyway.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So many revelations.

**_Dean and Cas_ **

“Can we talk about it, Dean?”

Dean is in the living room, standing indecisively in front of his bedding, when Cas follows him. The couch goes to Sam, that much is clear. Guests don’t have to sleep on the floor, not even when they’re his own brother.

“I’ll sleep on the floor,” Dean decides. “Isn’t the first time, won’t be the last.” But then of course there is the fur-monster to be taken into account now. Dean’s got a feeling that the beast is a cuddler. He turns to Cas after all. “Uhh, but I’d be grateful if you were okay with me sleeping on the bedroom floor. You know, where there’s a door that can be closed and no dog to slobber on me. You good with that?”

Cas looks puzzled like he’s expected something else and has trouble following Dean’s train of thought. “Dean, that’s not an issue. We can share a bed. That’s what couples are supposed to do anyway, isn’t it? And we’ve moved into this house as a couple.”

Of course that logic doesn’t work because they moved in as a _fake_ couple. And now they are - _something_. But instead of uttering that, Dean just asks, “You sure? I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

Something about that must give him away.

“Dean, what’s wrong?” Cas asks back, face now openly worried.

“Nothing.” It’s not even really a lie. Because there is beer sloshing around in his stomach, making him fuzzy and pushing everything that’s wrong into the background a bit.

“You’ve been off ever since Sam called in the afternoon,” Cas points out.

And Dean can’t really deny that but he doesn’t want to talk about it, either. “Shouldn’t have talked about you like you weren’t in the room earlier. Sorry ‘bout that.”

But Cas is not that easy to throw off track. “Is it because our relationship has changed? Because we’re _something more_ now?”

Dean fidgets uncomfortably. “Course not,” he mumbles.

Only, it’s been a while since he reacted this bitchy to Sam appropriating their Dad’s tone. And yeah, they could have had more success with their case, but this is not the first hunt that drags on longer than planned. It’s not like anyone got hurt or anything, either, even if they got hacked.

“Do you not want Sam to know?” Cas asks and now it’s him who’s fidgeting. “Because I’d understand but once we’re back at the bunker and have no excuse for _pretending_ anymore…”

“It’ll be impossible to keep the charade up, I know,” Dean interrupts harshly. Because while the bunker is spacious, they’re living pretty closely together. And Sam is always there. Dean takes a deep breath to calm his voice and starts anew. “I know, Cas. I know we can’t be this and keep it a secret.”

“Does that mean you – do you not want to be _something more_ anymore?” Cas actually fumbles with the sentence before it finally comes out, like he’s terrified to even say the words.

And the words terrify Dean quite a bit as well, because he hadn’t even thought about that. Not after everything they’ve become in the past few days.

“What? NO!” He half-shouts it and then promptly frantically checks whether his brother heard him before he remembers, oh yeah, Sam’s out with the dog. He coughs embarrassedly but Cas’ expression is still caught somewhere between fear and hope and the fear is awful to look at and Dean has to do something to make that look go away. He takes a deep breath and mans up. “The only way in which I don’t want us to be _something more_ is in that I want us to be even more than that. Cas, I’d like us to be - an actual couple.”

“An actual couple?” Cas repeats in a whisper, like he can’t believe the words.

“Like they are, you know?” Dean says and nods in the direction of their neighbors’ house. “Out and open. Allowed to, you know, touch whenever you want to. And stuff.” God, he’s bad at this.

But at least the fear is slowly melting out of Cas’ eyes, replaced by something new and shiny like hope and starlight. And yeah, Dean is a bad poet, but it’s much nicer to look at Cas when he looks like this. If only there wasn’t still the tight ball of dread in Dean’s stomach when he thinks about making this official. If only he didn’t see his father’s disapproving gaze as clearly as if his old man was still here. Hell, he probably is watching from somewhere right now.

“But we can do that, can’t we?” Cas asks carefully, clearly picking up on Dean's fears. “I mean, if we both want to? We can be a couple? There is no one to stop us.”

“But we’re hunters,” Dean says and now his voice is small. “Hunters don’t do that kind of shit. Definitely not with each other.” It sounds like a feeble excuse but he’s got no words to explain what he means. Apart from that every hunter he knows who ever had a partner, they got violently killed.

“I’m an angel, Dean, not a hunter,” Cas reminds him. Dean thinks that maybe Cas can still read a few of his thoughts and feelings and that’s why he’s patient with him now and even smiling a tiny encouraging smile.

“Not making it any better, Cas,” Dean says because Dean will never stop feeling guilty for making Cas fall. At the same time, he can’t help smiling a little as well when he sees Cas’ smile. It’s like it’s physically impossible for him not to do everything in his power to keep that smile on Cas’ face.

Dean shakes his head with a little huff. He’s so gone for his angel it’s not even funny.

“All I’m saying is,” Cas says, gaining more confidence with every passing second, “that we’ve been making it up as we go for a while now. And it’s worked for us. I think we can apply the same principles here.”

“Make it up as we go?” Dean asks. “Team free the gay?”

It’s a bad joke. But Cas chuckles even while he shakes his head. “You know that gender in the human sense doesn’t apply to me.”

“You’re still a dude, dude,” Dean counters.

It gets him a fond eye-roll before Cas bends down to pick up the blankets. “Let’s just get these to the bedroom.”

“Hey,” Dean stops him for a second, “for the record, Cas? You _are_ a hunter, and a damn good one to boot.”

 

***

**_Steve and Bucky_ **

Steve is inexplicably nervous. He feels like he shouldn’t be. They have slept next to each other every night in this house after all. But they’ve never started out that way. Now suddenly there’s Bucky when Steve comes back from the bathroom. He’s wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt and is frowning down at himself.

When he notices Steve enter, he looks up. “Is this okay?” he asks with a frown. “Is this how we used to do this?”

“Uhh,” Steve replies. “That’s two questions. For the first one, yes, of course it’s okay to wear sweatpants to bed.”

“But it’s not what we did before,” Bucky deducts.

“We were poor, Buck. We didn’t exactly have money to spend on nightwear.”

“So we slept in the buff?” Bucky asks back, clearly surprised but not necessarily shocked.

“Umm,” Steve’s at a loss of what to answer. “Sometimes? When it was summer and we were drunk?”

“Only when we were drunk cause we weren’t a couple.”

“Cause we weren’t a couple,” Steve confirms.

“Is it just the brainwashing or was our logic a little flawed?” Bucky grins.

Steve’s not sure he can joke about brainwashing yet, so he goes for honesty and shrugs. “There might have been some amount of denial involved.”

“No shit, Sherlock,” Bucky snorts.

“Not sure Nat’s doing your vocabulary any good,” Steve shakes his head. He dumps today’s clothes into the hamper and climbs into his side of the bed. Not his side. Not automatically. “Unless you wanted this side?” He asks Bucky.

Bucky looks at him confused. “No, it’s fine.” He experimentally sits down on the bed. “This feels right.”

“Yeah,” Steve nods.

“There was a reason for it,” Bucky hedges, like he’s remembering something but not quite. “For why I’m taking this side.”

“There was,” Steve agrees. “Do you want me to tell you?”

“Give me a second,” Bucky shakes his head. He’s settling in next to Steve, still moving about with the air of someone who tries to recreate a half-forgotten memory. He looks at Steve, steep frown on his face. “You were smaller,” is what he finally says. “That’s all I can come up with.” He looks frustrated.

“Hey,” Steve grasps his hand and squeezes it. “That’s pretty close actually. I didn’t hear very well with my right ear. Before the serum. So you kept on my left to make it easier for me to understand you.”

Bucky processes that for a second before he says. “I do that still. All the time.”

Now that Bucky says it, “You do. It’s like it’s muscle memory or something.” Which means Bucky’s muscle memory is not all Winter Soldier like he’d thought. There’s still parts that are simply Bucky. It makes Steve happy.

“You want to know what else my muscle memory tells me?” Bucky asks, eyes cast down to where their fingers are interwoven on the comforter.

“Only if you want to tell me,” Steve says, because from the way Bucky doesn’t look up to meet his eyes, it’s something scary.

“I think I do,” Bucky replies but still swallows heavily.

Steve squeezes his hand again, a wordless promise that he’s here and will not abandon him whatever Bucky tells him.

Bucky nods and takes another deep breath before rushing out, “It feels like I loved you.”

Steve is stunned for a moment.

Long enough that Bucky looks up after all, fear now plain in his eyes. He goes on, though, and mumbles, “I think I still do, Steve. Even though I’m not that Bucky anymore. I think I still love you.”

Steve can’t hold onto himself anymore and rushes forward to wrap Bucky up in a bone-crushing hug. “I love you, too, Buck. Oh God, I love you so much.”

 

***

**_Dean and Cas_ **

Sam keeps researching their neighbors. He mumbles about this “new lead being great”. Dean’s got no idea what is so great about this new lead, seeing that basically what Sam is doing is googling _“old people looking younger than they are”_.

What Dean does know is that he is annoyed. Because he’s finally decided to scrounge up the courage to come out to his brother (and ugh that word alone), and now his brother isn’t even listening. The only times that he looks up from his notebook are when his cell-phone dings. As if that in itself isn’t suspicious enough, Sam lights up brighter than his phone screen every time he gets a text.

“Who is texting you this much?” Dean grumbles.

“Just a hunter who’s helping me with this,” Sam shrugs.

“Bullshit,” Dean growls.

“Dean, do you want to solve this case or not?” Sam bitches and Dean rolls his eyes.

Cas is no help, either, he just watches from the armchair that he’s currently occupying. Keeping himself neatly out of reach until Dean makes good on his promise and tells Sam about them.

It’s like the whole world is against him, he thinks morosely and holds on tighter to his beer bottle. He can’t even drink as much of that as he wants to, because fuck, he’s not going to have this talk with Sam while he’s drunk.

“Holy moly,” Sam suddenly exclaims. “That can’t be.”

He’s typing furiously and then staring at the screen with an open mouth.

“Apparently that can be,” he finally says breathlessly and turns the screen towards Dean.

There’s a picture of a trading card on the screen. Dean remembers the cards, actually. They were vintage even when he was young, but a few of his friends dads had collected them and were all very proud of them. This one shows a muscular man, gun in one hand, shield in the other, looking towards the camera. Or rather, the brush, seeing that the card is painted. He’s wearing a star-spangled costume and looks pretty ridiculous.

“That’s Captain America,” Dean says.

“I’m aware,” Sam nods. “Now look at this. This is from the website of the Smithsonian. Remind you of someone?”

It’s a black and white clip showing two laughing men. There’s no sound and the quality is horrendous, the static almost having more weight than the picture.

)

There is still no mistaking the men in the clip.

Dean sits up straight. “No way. It can’t be.”

Cas is leaning closer now, too. “Steve Rogers and his best friend James Buchanan Barnes,” he reads the video description out loud.

They look younger. No, not younger necessarily - less damaged, even though the description goes on to say that the video was taken after Captain America had saved his friend from a POW camp. But it’s undoubtedly them.

“Our neighbor is - Captain America?” Dean laughs somewhat hysterically because this is weird even by Winchester standards.

“And his best friend who died in 1944 apparently.” Sam lets himself fall back on the couch, an incredulous laugh on his lips as well. “Holy moly. I did not expect that.”

Dean turns the screen back towards himself and studies the video again. There is no doubt, even though he doesn’t recognize that free laugh in Bucky. He has a feeling that Bucky hasn’t laughed like that in a while. Years probably. Decades maybe. “Holy shit,” he still doesn’t have any words. “Well, I guess the arm makes sense now.”

“Stark tech?” Sam wagers.

“Must be,” Dean nods.

“I’m going out on a limb and saying this means they’re not monsters?” Cas asks.

“No, Cas,” Sam shakes his head. “Captain America is not a monster, I’m pretty sure about that.”

“Well, that’s good then. So we were never in any danger from them?”

“That, I don’t know,” Sam says.

“You think it’s not a coincidence,” Dean catches his brother’s train of thought.

“I don’t believe in coincidences,” Sam says.

“Well, what could they want with us?”

“With us, nothing.” Sam shifts back up on his couch with a worried frown.

They turn towards Cas at the same time.

“What?” Cas says puzzled.

“You use your powers lately?” Dean asks.

“What?”

“Come on, Cas, you’re the only who’s got the mojo to end up on Captain America’s radar.”

“I only use my grace to help _you_!” Cas defends.

And that’s probably the truth and in the end, it doesn’t even matter when and where they got on their neighbors’ radar. What matters is, “So, what do we do now? I mean, if they’re really after us, they won’t just let us go.”

Sam sighs as if he thinks Dean is extremely dense. It raises his hackles immediately. “Dean, I think what we’re going to do now is ask. I mean, not now-now, because it’s past midnight, but you know, in a case like this, talking is obviously the best option.”

“Cas and I are a couple. For real.” It’s not what Dean had wanted to say. It really isn’t. But he can’t take Sam’s patronizing tone for a single second longer. “Not defending. Just saying. So that you know. Cause it’s none of your business what we do anyway. So you just gotta live with it,” he growls.

“Oh, thank God,” Sam sighs. “I thought for sure you’d need longer than this. I was so worried I’d been coming back too early.”

“What?” That comes from both Dean and Cas simultaneously.

“Congrats, guys. Really. I was giving up hope. I’m glad I was wrong.”

“What?” The world has come to a screeching halt somehow.

“Also, just to inform you, Simpson and I are going to make a detour on our way back to the bunker. We’re visiting Eileen. Remember her? The hunter we met at Oak Park Retirement Home? She’s kind of my girlfriend. So don’t expect us back for a few weeks at least.”

“ _Wait - WHAT?_ ”


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The visitor arrives and brings final revelations.

**_Steve and Bucky_ **

The sound of the doorbell rips Steve from his sleep. He groans and tries to sort his muddy brain enough to locate all of his limbs. They’re wrapped around something instead of tightly bundled in his blanket. Another moment and he’s awake enough to notice that the something that he’s wrapped around is moving. More limbs.

“Bucky,” his brain finally makes the connection. They’re in bed - in an actual bed -, it’s still dark out and someone just rang the doorbell.

There’s a sound down the hall, so Nat is faster than them. Steve shakes himself awake.

Untangling from each other still takes a second. Possibly, because they’re both a tiny bit unwilling to leave the space of shared warmth. But years of training take over soon enough and they get up without another word. Steve glances at his drawer, wondering whether he should take his gun. Well, better safe than sorry. He quickly steps into a pair of jeans and grabs the gun.

He nods at Bucky, Bucky nods back, and easy as that they understand each other. They have muscle memory for this as well, for creeping through shadowy hallways in the middle of the night, not knowing what or who awaits them on the other side.

Steve knows they’re quiet, moving in unison, two darker shadows against the shadowy wall of the hallway, and still: “Guys, stop sneaking,” Natasha yells at them before they can even round the corner. “You can stand down, it’s just the visitor we were expecting.”

Bucky and Steve freeze. Natasha would be a scary opponent to have. Well, Bucky’s had the pleasure before and came out alive. Steve has to remember never to underestimate his boyfriend. _Boyfriend_. He smiles at the word and turns to Bucky. They look at each other for a second, then Steve shrugs and tugs the gun into the waistband of his pants. They step into the front hall together.

There’s a second girl next to Natasha. She looks – very similar and completely different from Natasha at the same time. She’s petite and a redhead, so that’s similar, but she wears a bright smile, that is unguarded and open. Or seems that way at least. Like it’s a genuine pleasure for her to be here and she’s not making a secret out of it.

“Oh, look at you! All tall and handsome and ready to defend the country. Or the house. Better not defend Nat, she doesn’t take kindly to it. Oh God, I’m rambling. I’m sorry. But I’ve heard so much about you!” She practically bounces up and down on the spot.

“And here I always thought spies should be inconspicuous. What’s with all the red hair?” Bucky grumbles and yawns, the tension of the abrupt wake-up already leaving him in light of Natasha’s relaxed stance.

Steve can’t keep from smiling. Bucky had always been grumpy when he got woken up in the middle of the night.

“Says the guy with the metal arm,” Nat counters.

“Yeah, but I’m an assassin, not a spy. You’re supposed to be dead by the time you notice the arm.”

Nat raises her eyebrows. “I hate to break it to you, sweetheart, but you’re not an assassin anymore. SHIELD doesn’t employ assassins. But do you know who SHIELD employs? Spies. That’s who they employ.”

“Natasha,” Steve warns and it might or might not be the use of the word _sweetheart_ that makes him a bit harsher than necessary. Might also just be that being woken up in the middle of the night thing. “Why are we talking about this with a civilian?”

The other redhead laughs. “Duh! Like I don’t know Captain America and the Winter Soldier! Dude, I might be younger than you but I wasn’t born yesterday! I’m Charlie by the way and I’d really appreciate it if you didn’t arrest me.” She adds a nervous smile to that last sentence.

“Steve,” Steve says and shakes her hand. “And why would we arrest you?”

“Uhh, you haven’t told them?” Charlie asks Natasha and Steve can’t decide whether the nervous fidgeting is honest or an act. “Isn’t the good Captain your CO on this?”

Natasha shrugs and turns to Steve. “Charlie’s not exactly a civilian, so sharing SHIELD basics really isn’t news to her. But _technically_ she’s been AWOL for about a year now.”

Natasha doesn’t seem to be inclined to share the rest of the story, so Steve asks. “And practically?”

“Practically, she made a deal with Stark. And Maria Hill knows about it, even if she never signed off on it.”

Nat’s voice couldn’t be more bored but Charlie frowns. “And how do you know about that?”

Nat is unfazed. “Saw your body. Or rather, the scorched remains of it.”

“Oh, oops.” The short show of temper is replaced by a self-conscious smile.

“Stark was pissed,” Natasha volunteers. “He hates it when someone destroys his tech.”

“I sent him a location and time! I can’t help it if he doesn’t check his email and is too late for the pick up!”

“What happened exactly?” Steve asks because he’s still completely lost.

“I needed to die,” Charlie explains patiently. “So Stark helped me out and gave me my LMD...”

“A life-model decoy?” Steve interrupts her. “That’s expensive tech.”

“Well, it was already there. And it’s not like he was using it for anyone else. I hope. Ugh.” She makes a disgusted face that looks like she’s going through the possibilities of what exactly Tony might be doing with an empty LMD. “Anyway, I was helping the frikking oafs…”

“Oafs?”

“The Winchesters!” She throws her hands up in the air. “I happen to like them, okay? Don’t ask.”

Steve nods mutely. They already knew that Charlie knows the Winchesters. It stands to reason that she likes them if she doesn’t interfere with them using her code.

“So I was on the run with this book, and I knew the guys I had stolen it from wouldn’t stop coming after me. So I asked Stark for a favor, and what shall I say, it’s kind of hard to stage a good death while these two idiots are trying to save me,” she scowls.

“What happened?” Steve asks.

“They found me - or rather, my LMD-me, before Stark could collect the body.” She looks openly upset now.

And finally, Steve understands. “They saw your body. And because you couldn’t reveal the existence of SHIELD tech to them…”

“I had to stay dead, yeah. It _sucked_. Embarrassing as it is to admit, they’re like my best friends and the only family I’ve got.”

There is nothing much to say to that, so Steve mumbles a polite “Sorry”, and Bucky does that same.

“Hold the pity party for just a moment,” Natasha grins, takes her phone out of her pocket, taps the screen a few times and finally shows the screen to Charlie.

For a long moment, nothing happens. Then Charlie looks up, eyes wide. “You serious?”

“It says so right here, doesn’t it?” Natasha shrugs, nonchalance clearly covering a self-satisfied smirk.

There’s a loud squeal and Charlie flings herself at the other redhead. “Oh my God, Tasha, I love you!”

“Careful, Red,” Natasha chuckles and extricates herself from under Charlie.

“Oops, sorry, you don’t do hugs, I forgot,” Charlie beams and immediately hugs her again.

Steve’s pretty sure that if he had to bet, he’d have betted that no one would survive that, not even Clint. By the way Bucky stares at the proceedings, he’s probably thinking the same. But Nat just shakes her head and pats Charlie on the back.

“You’re welcome, Red. SHIELD wants some information in exchange, you’re aware of that, right?” Natasha says.

Charlie finally lets go of her. “Easy. I don’t even have to betray anyone’s confidences. Just read the books.”

“What? Which books?” Natasha asks, this turn of events clearly taking even her by surprise.

“The Supernatural books of course!” Charlie answers as if that should be self-explanatory.

“The what now?” Steve asks. He’s pretty sure that none of this makes any sense. He looks over to Bucky. “Do you know what they’re talking about?”

“No idea. Assassin, not spy, remember? I got my info delivered to me.” He tries to say it lightly but he can’t hide the shudder that comes with the words.

“Hey,” Steve interrupts immediately and wraps his hand around Bucky’s. “Not anymore, remember? You’re safe now. I’ve got you.”

And uhh, that was probably a little more than he’d wanted to say but Bucky ducks his head to hide his soft smile, and tightens his hold on Steve’s hand, so Steve thinks he did okay with what he said after all.

By now, Steve’s probably been staring at Bucky for too long, so he rips his eyes away and looks right into the biggest shit-eating grin he’s ever seen. “I knew it!” Charlie whoops. “I need a picture of this to send to my high school history teacher. Stuck-up fossil gave my an F for my essay on Captain America being the bisexual hero that America needs.”

“Charlie!” Natasha warns, even while Steve follows Bucky in ducking his head and hiding his expression because he knows he’s blushing brightly.

Bucky’s chuckling and looking up at him through the hair that’s still partially covering his face. There is actual mirth in his winter-blue eyes, which is so much more than Steve could have hoped for this shortly after a mention of HYDRA, so when Bucky lets go of Steve’s hand in order to wrap his arm around Steve’s waist, Steve doesn’t protest. Bucky leans up to give him a quick chaste kiss. “I think I agree with her, Cap,” he mutters.

Steve ignores the new squeal that the kiss produces and wraps Bucky up tighter in his arms. “Shut up,” he mumbles. “I’m not discussing the matter of my coming out with two redheads in a hallway in the middle of the night. At least not why we have more pressing matters to discuss.” He gives Bucky another small kiss, because it’s impossible not to, but then he looks up and looks expectantly at Charlie.

He’s got little success in getting her attention about the case at hand, though. She’s got a star-struck look on her face and keeps saying, “Oh God, they’re cute! Nat, are they always this cute?” Charlie grabs Nat’s arm and shakes her to make her share her excitement.

No such luck. “Calm down, Red,” Nat grumbles. “Cap’s right, you still have to tell us a story.”

Charlie’s face falls. “Oh gosh, and it’s a long story. And you’ll want to hear it all before you let me see them, huh? Well, I guess we shouldn’t show up over there before 7 anyway. I remember Dean getting very grumpy. And very grumpy Dean equals twitchy trigger-finger. Let’s not risk that. Okay. We’ll get comfy and do story-time.” She nudges at Steve. “Come on, Dorito-hips, If you’ve got some coffee for me, I’ll tell you everything. Spoiler alert: It’s all about angels. Mainly about the one angel who is particularly dreamy.” Her face brightens up again. “Though I’m guessing you have figured the dreamy part out already. Oh, I hope they’ve actually got their shit figured out. I’m gonna just drown in the cute gay.”

 

***

**_Dean and Cas_ **

Waking up next to Cas is nice. Really nice. Weirdly, it’s not even disorienting. Usually, when Dean wakes up next to another body, it takes a moment for his brain to piece together who it is that is beside him. But usually, it’s not his best friend – boyfriend! - either. Because boyfriends. Because they’ve told Sam.

Holy shit.

Dean sits up with a snap.

They’ve told Sam. And Sam has a girlfriend. Eileen, who’s a hunter. Who Sam immediately bonded with apparently and Dean didn’t even notice.

Holy shit.

And their neighbor is Captain America.

He falls back on the bed. All of this is quite a lot to process.

But then it suddenly seems a lot easier when Cas turns around in his sleep and buries his face in the crook of Dean’s neck. Dean’s arm comes up around his boyfriend’s (boyfriend’s!) back, and with a kiss to Cas’ hair he falls back into a half-slumber as well.

They still get up early. There’s a certain buzz to the house, an eagerness to get this case over with. Sam has confessed yesterday night that he made the whole thing up in the first place, the disappearances never actually anything out of the ordinary, and that he got goddamn worried when it suddenly looked like he’d unwittingly put Cas and Dean into danger.

Dean grumbled about it on principle, but in reality, Sam’s scheme is easily forgiven, seeing what benefits it has brought them. So yeah, Dean can’t even pretend he hasn’t enjoyed his life in the ‘burbs with Cas. But now that it’s out in the open, that Cas’ hand casually brushes alongside Dean’s arm when he goes to make coffee, that Dean’s hand out of its own volition reciprocates and comes to rest on the small of Cas’ back for a moment before he gets the cups from the upper shelf, now that Sam makes a face at them when they lean in for a quick stolen kiss while filling the coffee cups, now Dean’s ready to go home. Because the white picket fence is nice, but it’s not his life. And that’s okay, because he’s going to get to take Cas with him when he leaves.

He still smacks Sam on the head when his smug smile becomes too much, but Sam instead of retaliating types something into his phone and then has the audacity to snap a picture when Dean leans in to tussle Cas’ hair.

“Not cool, Sammy,” Dean grumbles because it’s way too early for this shit.

“Lighten up, Dean, just snapping a pic of Simpson for Eileen.”

“Yeah, right,” Dean grouses, because that’s so not what happened. But hey, “Send me the picture, will you?” He asks instead.

Sam chuckles and a moment later Dean’s phone beeps and he’s got his first official photo of them as a couple.

So all in all, Dean is in a great mood when the doorbell rings. “I guess that means we can clear this up immediately,” he says to himself because there’s no one but their neighbors who’d ring at this hour. “I’m getting it!”

He rips open the door - and the world comes to a screeching halt for the third time this week.

He blinks, once, twice, but his eyes still show him the same image.

“Hey Dean,” the apparition smiles. “Please don’t try to kill me, okay? Just get out the holy water and the salt and whatever else you have to do.”

“I burned your body,” he says dumbly, because he did.

“You burned a body that looked like mine. Small but vital difference. Can you please already get over with testing whether I’m human? Cause I’d really like to hug you now.”

Dean can’t, then, even though, yes, he should test her, but “Goddammit, Charlie!” He closes his arms around her and hugs her so tight that it feels like he should be crushing her, but she hugs him back just as fiercely.

“I’m sorry, Dean. God, I’m so sorry. I wanted to tell you, I swear. I couldn’t. But I always kept an eye on you.” Her voice breaks on the last words and Dean isn’t sure his own voice is any more stable because there’s definitely a burning in his eyes and he’s half-tempted not to even care, because the woman in his arms feels like Charlie and smells like Charlie and if he keeps hugging her and looking at her, then the image of her bloody body, dumped in a bathtub, will be erased from his mind and she’ll always have been alive. And oh God, he wants his little sister to be alive so badly.

“What the hell?” That’s Sam’s voice behind them, and Dean is glad that it’s just his voice, not the click of a revolver.

Still, Dean turns them so that his own body is shielding Charlie before he lets go of her. He’s not taking any risks. If she is really Charlie, he’s not going to lose her again.

“Sam, hi,” Charlie says sheepishly and waves from behind him. “Are you going to try to kill me? Cause I’d like to hug you as well, but not if you’re going to stab me when I come close.”

“What?” Sam seems dumbstruck.

“Okay, I’m coming over to hug you. You can holy water and salt me later.” She neatly side-steps Dean and reaches up to hug the moose. He stays completely still for a long moment, but then he hugs back and that’s the moment when Charlie’s shoulders start shaking. She pushes against Sam until he lets go of her and then hits him square in the chest, though there’s no force behind it. “You frikking moron just had to lead SHIELD back to me, didn’t you?” she scolds. It would be more impressive if she wasn’t still crying. “Couldn’t have been a bit more careful with my code.” She throws her arms back around Sam for a second hug.

“SHIELD?” Cas asks from where he’s standing behind everyone else, watching the emotional scene, apparently unsure where he fits in in all of this.  

“Yeah, that would be us,” the other redhead pipes up from where she’s patiently been waiting at the door with Steve and Bucky. “Hi. You can still call me Natasha, no need to call me agent,” she smirks.

Dean narrows his eyes. SHIELD, huh? So much for the organization not existing anymore. But then, the people standing in front of him were also not supposed to be existing. Or at least one of them. “So does that mean we can also still call you _Steve Rogers_ and _Bucky Barnes_ or would you prefer _Captain America_ and his loyal _sidekick_?”

“Loyal sidekick, that’s me,” Bucky grins and ignores Steve’s immediate protests. “Nice meeting you.” He holds out his hand.

“Loyal _dead_ sidekick,” Dean corrects his own words and doesn’t take the hand.

“Well, so is she, and you hugged her,” Bucky shrugs and takes his hand back to wrap it into Steve’s instead.

The easy smirk is still there. It’s different now, though. He’s teasing, but it’s friendly ribbing like you tease a friend. He’s not actually trying to rile Dean. He’s trying to tell him that they’re not in trouble with SHIELD. And Dean can appreciate that.

So in the end, he doesn’t question it. All he does is shakes his head and ask, “Want to come in and have some coffee?”

 

They end up testing Charlie (and Bucky, since they’re already at it – they both come out human) even while Charlie is telling her story. Both of how she faked her death as well as what her relation was and is to SHIELD. Dean’s not sure what he’s thinking of that, and for a while there, he wants to be angry, because he’s carried the guilt for her death for a year now. But then she hugs him again, and then Cas takes his hand, and Charlie says that Cas is still as dreamy as he was in the books and that one time that she met him before and she hugs them both and says she’s proud of them for figuring out their feelings, and suddenly all Dean can feel is how goddamn grateful he is. He is sitting here, Cas at his one side, Charlie at his other, his brother with his stupid dog on the couch opposite, and his heart hurts he’s so happy. Because they’re alive and well and he loves them and they love him, and yeah, everything will not be easy. There’s still wounds to heal and there will always be monsters to slay. Well, and they got to stop SHIELD from recruiting their very first angel. But they’re here and they’re together, and it’s not an apple pie life but Bucky and Steve brought the rest of the lemon meringue, and it doesn’t get much better than that.

 

THE END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story got concocted as a crack story in the middle of the night during a visit at Christmas, and then it developed a life of its own and a lot of feelings. I hope you all enjoyed that as much as we did! 
> 
> In the original spirit of the story, we want to say goodbye with a joke that has not made it into the final cut, but was too funny not to share. 
> 
> “Cas, do you think it’s possible to bless garden hose water?”  
> “What?”  
> “Well, probably not, because it’s running water. A super soaker then.”  
> “You want to drench Steve with a super soaker?”  
> “Trust me, Cas, we haven’t tried holy water yet. He’s going to get upset.”  
> “Yes, because you’re drenching him.”  
> “Small price to pay.”  
> *Cas squints* “Dean, this is not a wet t-shirt contest.”
> 
> Thank you for sticking with us and the boys until the end (though the end of the line is many happy years away)!


End file.
